One day, a man moved deep into the forest. He set about building a cabin; the man found some good wood a mile or two away, and as his chopping progressed a healthy pile of logs soon accumulated. As he began to transport the logs to his building site, trip by trip a clear path began to form. The man knew every root, every puddle, every low hanging branch, and the ground soon became well trodden.
A few weeks later, his cabin was finished. Sturdy and stable, well tested and built, the man finally moved in, and the path that was once so frequently used was gently reclaimed by nature, and the memory of its hazards were pushed out of the man's thoughts by more pressing matters.
Many years later, a great storm struck the man's home. He cowered under his bed and hoped he could escape it unscathed, but when the storm finally abated, the man entered his kitchen to find the roof torn clean off. He was thankful the damage had not been worse, but with winter approaching, the man knew he had to fix it as soon as possible. Wondering what to do, he suddenly realised that there was still a pile of logs leftover from his initial construction. But as he stepped out of his cabin, it dawned on him he hadn't the faintest idea how to get back to it.
The man wandered the woods, looking for any evidence of where the path might be. Eventually, he rambled and remembered through enough trees that he finally stumbled onto the clearing which contained the pile. Although he had likely been on his original path for some of journey, this was certainly a new way to make it there; nevertheless, the pile's existence was never doubted.