The breeze’s cool fingers tickled my face and tugged at my hair, coaxing us down the trail. Its voice mixed with chuckling river laugher from a stream that bounced over rocks. It was content to be a shallow brook with no aspirations of becoming a mighty torrent. Leaning trees reached down to greet the water as it passed, suspended at impossible angles as if caught on film in the act of diving into the river.

Bits of spider web dotted with dew laced the path in feeble attempts to turn us back. A tiny bee circled my head and darted in and out of my peripheral vision. Motionless except for the perpetual wings, it hovered in the center of the path and watched us. I took its picture. Foliage and the path appeared in the image, but the bee was only a tiny spark of light. Was it a bee, or had we been discovered by a wood sprite, curious about the bumbling intruders?

Hours later we emerged from the woods. Hot, tired, and grubby, we trekked to our car. Air conditioning revived us. In just a short time we reached our destination for the night. The lights were on. Television, Internet service, and an assortment of movies awaited our pleasure. Room service wasn’t necessary; the kitchen came complete with a fully stocked refrigerator. With a push of a button, the coffeepot began to brew. All this luxury at no extra cost. We had arrived at home.

The economy spread its confining web and pushed us down an overlooked path. Instead of traveling hundreds of miles to a distant park, we adventured close to home. A few miles up the road we discovered an enchanting forest. Our investment? A book of local hikes and a small amount of gas.