We weren't to wander freely we took to mean without destination. So we made new ones daily. Each would take us farther along a given path. Soon the paths were dotted with relics of past excursions. These were our landmarks. Rocks. Trees. Bridges. Clearings in the woods were highly prized. Some spots held spirits of occurrences; we were here when the geese flew over, there when the storm came up, somewhere near here when we were hopelessly lost. Of course, the latest milestones were only destinations until we reached them. From there on, all was unknown. Occasionally we'd have to cross roads that we recognized, having driven over them with our parents. But these were vague and fleeting recollections. Our memories were our only maps.
Sometimes one of our routes would meet up with another and when this happened our initial reaction was one of amazed discovery and pride in our ability to put a few more pieces of the great puzzle together. But this was followed, for me at least, by a kind of sadness. Our world was becoming smaller, not larger. The forces of de-mystification were at work.