At the end of the path are the woods, which, of course, are necessary. The dirt path smells of cedar, pencil shavings, tired beginnings. When the red-hooded girl-child begins her journey she walks in halting steps, fearful of scuffing her church shoes. Mama said be careful, mama said keep tidy. One step, pause, bend at waist, swat at patent leather, unbend, step again.