The phragmites were tall, making me feel short. A red-winged blackbird flew overhead, scolding me. I enjoyed the somewhat magical sensation of being hidden inside the reeds.
There are many analogies for walking along on an unknown path. For many writers, it is easy to equate such a path to the process of writing a novel. You can't see very far ahead and you may not be sure where the next turn will lead, but it's that sense of adventure that makes writing so much fun.
Abruptly, I came to the end of my little sojourn. A broken down spillway blocked my progress. If I was more daring, I would have tried stepping over the mossy stones. But I'm not as spry as I used to be so I turned around and returned to the old stairway through my magical path. It was a short exploit, but delightful nevertheless.