The road without end

There is at the end of the road without end, over there, at the bottom of wood, so far to find it is a miracle, a small castle. At the edge of a river, it looks at water running its abandoned towers. Some walkers all, luckier the ones than the others, make of this place a secrecy. They find silence and peace there. No more time ago, neither of rules, nor of principles, just the calm of an opened out and wild nature.  There remains especially the pleasure of having had the chance to lose itself on the road without end along its twisted turns which never finish any. To leave becomes one moment in charge of regrets. Contrary, there will remain always the burning desire to return there.