Ever since we were created, our bare hands have been building yellow-brick roads towards some sort of Emerald City. Every second of consciousness is a tile put down towards that goal, may it be crooked or upright, perfect or chipped. The yellow road's foundations are built stronger and quicker when we will ourselves to dream for the palace of the future. The plot, however, changes when we pick up a brick that is of a different color. When we learn to stray our gaze from the construction of our yellow-brick road, we have built a fork; perhaps toward the West, the forest, or the apple orchard where a tin man lays ungreased. Another road, but without the grit to meet the Wizard with the answers, never forward to the city of dreams.
