Wandering

Small prints in a dark coal colored mud. Not certain of the destination nor the way to get there, considering there hasn't been determined yet. No shoes, the tracks are clean. Night had fallen some two hours ago or closer. I'm not sure. So far, without a knowing where one is going then hours fade into days and days to weeks. Who knows how long has been spent wandering. A glance back reveils a dark placce. A place that shouldn't be treaded again, yet forward looks the same but, some how, seems brighter. A new place with new things. Perhaps there the wandering ends.