Zachary walked along the dirt path in the forest in which his house lay in. He had been walking all day, a walking cane to accompany him when he went uphill. The wood was golden of autumn, leaves falling gracefully off branches and a cool wind breezing in Zachary's long, blond locks.

Zachary was a young man at age 18, ready to see the world for himself. Part of the world he witnessed in this forest, since he took hikes through here ever since he could crawl. Well, in that stage he was accompanied by his mother, of course. But he knew this path like the back of his hand.

The 18 year old legs were growing tired from the long hike. A ray of the evening sunlight passed through the trees and made his golden hair shine. He looked up to see that it was indeed getting late. He smiled as he saw that he was nearing the end of his journey.

As he reached the split roads, he stopped. One short path led back to his house, and the other, a higher elavance, led to where his bourders ended. He stood to think, recalling Robert Frosts' words in his mind. And I, I took the one less travled by, and that has made all the difference…

He looked at the path he normally took to his home, and back at the one that led to freedom. He cursed himself for rebeling agianst his instinct to go home, whee his mother servered a delicous dinner while his father recaled stories and he could play with his many siblings. Home. But he was 18, ready to be on his own, and ready to journy. Smiling confidently, he walked forward with his cane and travled up the road less taken by; the road to freedom.

Is Zachary really taking a walk in the woods? You decide.