This is how a road gets made.
Somebody walked on a virgin (land).
Someone else saw their tracks
and followed them, leaving a path.
It seemed as though i were looking
down the hill when I first saw it,
but, as I waled on, I realized
I was going up.
Somebody whistled behind and
turning round, they seemed far below.
Then I came to where
there had been a fire and was shaded
from the sun by the trees.
Figure of eight. It's our year,
it always was.
Made of earth, drinks water,
breathes air, makes fire.