There is a trail I know about. It's sort of a secret. There's no sign and it's not in any guidebooks. It passes through some private land, but the landowner is tolerant so far and hasn't put up any gates or signs.
At one point the trail crosses an old road that is slowly being reclaimed by the forest, although it still looks driveable. Along this road at several scenic overlooks are building lots carved out of the trees. Piles of wood lie here, some covered by tarps. My friend who showed me the trail says the wood has been here for at least ten years. He thinks someone bought the land to build some luxury homes, but either ran out of money or found some problem that made building impossible.
The lot I would choose is the highest one, near the top of the ridge. You can see a lake from there, far below. Wildlife would visit up there. It would be quiet. If the other houses were built, you wouldn't be able to see them. You could hike and run the old roads and trails.
When I pass the piles of building material, I think about dreams. This was someone's dream that they had to let go. I wonder if they ever go back there, if it's too painful, or if they moved on long ago. Some dreams are easy to release and others stay with us always.
People are starting to find the trail and my days of hiking it may be numbered. For now it's still mine, to walk and listen and dream.