In the southeast, you often found older things. Well, older structures. The west just had a hundred years or so of history, but the southeast at least had more than two. Nothing like Europe, or Africa, but the east coast of the US did have its own forgotten places.

Walking through the woods was like being in another world. The older trees, covered with vines and creepers, towered and spread wide branches, leaving a sense of being lost in time and space. So much green, the scent of the earth and the plants, and the soft murmuring buzz of dragonfly wings and the high skree of the cicadas all combined to make me forget that town was only a 20 minute drive away.

And then I saw the stone steps. There was a stone pillar to the left, and then just steps, leading up the slope of earth past the huge oak. Really, they were some sort of concrete, but there were stone flagstones for the surface of each one. Moss and kudzu clung to the oak, and aside from a soft sound — was it water? There was no clue what lay beyond.