A hundred years ago, somebody else was walking these paths. There might even be no paths. These may all have been trees, weeds, or who knows, just a wide long piece of dirt. But from this vantage point, that walker would have been looking at the same structure in the sky. The mountains have changed throughout the years but they were there. On this part of the path the walker would’ve also felt nostalgic. He would’ve pondered about who may have walked here hundred years before him, what he was thinking. Would that third walker be as curious as us. Or would the walker be a woman running away from the village into this one big tree, grieving the freedom she just lost from a marriage with a man she doesn’t love.