A Path in the Woods
A path sits in the woods.  It is new and shows no signs of wear.  The trees part perfectly and hover high above the path, leaving it shaded.  The trail is easily accessed and just waiting to be walked. 
A girl walks down the path.  She is young, not yet burdened or weighed down by responsibilities or reality.  She walks with a slight skip in her step, never realizing that after a day of playing, there is mud on her shoes.  This mud is now on the path.  The path is no longer new.
A man shuffles down the path.  Life has brought this man down, and he is constantly rushing.  Rushing to work.  Rushing home.  Rushing to the end of this path, never realizing that in his rush, he dropped some of his papers.  The path is now stained with garbage.
Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, stroll down the path.  Their hands are intertwined and their eyes are constantly on each other, never realizing that branches are starting to droop onto the path.  The path is no longer clear.
A dancer glides down the path.  A song is constantly playing in her mind, and she cannot help but to move with it.  She twirls and jumps to the end of path, never realizing that her sweater got stuck on a branch and ripped.  The branch is now weighed down by a piece of fabric, and the path is blemished.
Two boys race down the path.  They are laughing as they run, competing as always.  They run as fast as their legs will allow, never realizing that in their hurry, they dropped the candy wrappers they carried.  The path is now tarnished with litter.
A woman wanders down the path.  Her face is in her map, trying to figure out where to go.  She walks slowly, hoping to find her way, never realizing that the wind blew her hat right off her head.  The path is now cluttered.
An old man limps down the path.  His old age has made him bitter, and in his anger at his lack of time left, he stopped enjoying the world.  He slowly dodges the branches and trash on the path, making his way to the end, never realizing he dropped a picture of his late wife.  The path cradles a precious memory.
A path sits in the woods.  Branches and trash cover it, hiding the memories it once held and erasing the possibility of more.  It is worn from the feet walking, shuffling, strolling, gliding, racing, wandering, and limping down the path.  It is not easily seen nor walked.
A forgotten path sits in the woods.  No one has gone down it in years and it is almost impossible to realize anyone ever did.
A path no longer sits in the woods.