Constance was walking.
She had no real direction. She thought she was just walking straight, and would make it to the water eventually.
But Constance was walking in circles.
She couldn’t realize she was walking in circles. The circles were large, perhaps three kilometres in diameter. But ultimately, inevitable, she ended up beside the same tree, every time.
Constance thought the birch looked familiar. But she didn’t mark it, didn’t want to harm nature. Take only pictures, she reminded herself. Leave only footprints.
And so Constance kept walking in circles, until she was exhausted. Then she sat down, rested, and waited for tomorrow, when she could continue her journey.