After a long day of hesitation, he decided it was time. His sandals crunched as he stood up, and he announced a long walk by the size of his saddlebag. Pen and blank sheets of paper peeked out of his pockets. With the threat of weather, he set off on an uncertain journey.

In an austere hostel, the flames of a bonfire embraced pilgrims with different purposes. When they awoke to the sun, only ashes and a lingering smell of burning wood remained. A wanderer offered him a poncho to shelter him from the cold, gratefully he accepted it. A bitter coffee and a piece of bread were his only company before putting on his sandals and continuing on.

Hardness and calluses impregnated his feet. On the eve of the night, a force urged him to give up, but when he touched his poncho, the beating of his heart gave him the necessary energy. He wanted to fulfill his purpose.

He took pen and leaves to write, the first sentence being: "Walker, there is no path, you make the path as you walk". At his last stop, with his sandals covered in cuts and dirt, he refused to get rid of them. After an icy shower, he walked the last stretch to the Church of the Assumption. He was no longer master of his feet; the sandals set the pace, the direction and the destination.

As she opened the door, she was enveloped in a deep sense of well-being. Cramps ran through his body, merged with a sense of calm and peace. He had made it.

At that moment, she realized that every doubt and every step had been instrumental in her journey. The blank pages were filled with stories that narrated his journey. Sitting in front of the church, he looked up at the sky. The sandals, worn but full of meaning, rested beside him.

There is no beginning without an end and no end without a beginning. The important thing is the path.