There is a path near my home that changes with the seasons.

In winter, the glistening snow carpets the path, creating the illusion of a beautiful wonderland. The deep, patterned footprints and snow angels mark the playful joy of children looking forward to their school-free snow days. The trees along the side of the road bend over from the weight of the snow resting atop their branches.
In spring, flowers and leaves sprout all over the trees, covering the branches with whites and pinks and greens. Slight gusts of wind blow through the path. The branches rustle along and the petals and leaves on the floor join in on a little dance, blowing to and fro. Couples stroll through, in awe of the scenery. Bees buzz busily by. Sweet smells and sparrow songs fill the air.

In summer, heat sizzles throughout. Adults and children alike trudge into the path, the immense heat even causing the trees to droop in desperation for cooling. The concrete, having been baking in the sun for a while, is too hot for bare feet to wander it.

In autumn, the path is the most beautiful. The leaves on the trees are all shades of red, golden and orange. The path is littered with the leaves of all the brown and red and green and golden. The satisfying crunch under your sneakers sounds when you walk through. A calm kind of atmosphere lingers, and leaves you at a loss for words.
There is a path near my home that changes with the seasons. This path I share with laughter and joy, sadness and hardship, anger and frustration. When I am at unease, I bring myself back to this path, and I always find peace.