Befuddlement and The Beginning of Things

Jerry sat beside the pool into which the tower of cascading water fell and watched its perpetual flow. The bull absently rubbed his arm, damp from his tumble into the valley; though the sun was nearing its zenith and it had been a while since Jerry arrived, the mountainous ridge from whence the water issued still cast a long shadow over the pool and several yards past, and Jerry still wasn't quite dry.
"Well," said Jerry aloud to nobody, "I didn't want to go out into the sun right away. It would probably be really hot after my being in the cool water. And anyway, it's nice to take a minute to relax and just think about life, you know?" Nobody answered him. Silence reigned, but for the sound of the gushing water. Sighing after a moment, he swiped his nose with the back of a cloven hoof and then pushed himself to his feet. Taking one more look at the waterfall, Jerry turned away from the ridge and towards the open valley. "I guess I might as well leave, then," he mumbled, presumably to himself. "Maybe the sun won't be too hot after all. I could always just come back here later."
A small ways past the shadow of the mountains, Jerry found the beginnings of a packed-earth road. Planted in the yellow grass beside was a small wooden sign, reading, "Welcome to Pretzel Valley! Walk here," with an arrow pointing to the road itself. Jerry snorted and looked up at the sky.
"Really? That seems kind of obvious, doesn't it?" Whether he meant that roads are meant to be walked on or that the name of the land on which he traveled was Pretzel Valley, I'm not sure; nevertheless, he still received no answer, because he's not actually talking to anyone. He was alone. "No I'm not!" he shouted, "I'm talking to you! How can I be alone when I hear you talking all the time?" I guess he's trying to assert that the sky is sentient. He's also hearing things. Evidently, I picked a defective protagonist. Snorting again, Jerry shook his head and stepped onto the road. He hadn't taken more than five strides when another sign, identical in shape and size to the first, sprang from the ground like a stop-motion, time-lapse video of the growth of a corn stalk, which greatly startled the bull. "Where you are headed may not be where you arrive," it read. Jerry blinked in confusion from his place in the dirt where he had stumbled and fallen in surprise at the sign's appearance.
"What does that mean?" Jerry asked the sign. "Where am I headed?" The sign gave no response. After all, signs cannot speak.

But what if they could? Now, that would be something. What if, when in need of directions, all we had to do was walk up to any street sign? "Where's the nearest bookstore?" we might ask, and the sign would reply, "Oh, there's a Half-price Books just a few blocks over from here!" That would be pretty neat. Jerry certainly wouldn't be so bewildered.
On second thought, that would also kind of be just like the Speech Interpretation and Recognition Interface, and that's on smart phones so you could keep it in your pocket, and it's actually way more convenient than asking a sign would be. But I digress.

By this time, Jerry had once again taken to his feet and continued on his journey. No new signage had appeared, although Jerry would tense and look to the side of the road whenever he passed a suspicious clump of grass. He still had no idea where he was going, but at least he was getting closer.
"A little direction would still be nice," he grumbled with a significant glance at his friend, the sky. What our Bovinae hero didn't realize, and what could not truly be explained to him or any new journeyman, was that he had entered Pretzel Valley. Pretzel Valley is a directionless land. Neither left nor right mattered. As any seasoned traveler could tell you, just as the sign had tried: just because you have a destination does not mean that is where you will end up, at least not right away. Life on the road is unpredictable and strange and confusing, sometimes incredibly worth it, often disappointing, and generally flat-out difficult. It's the rest of your life, and I think we can all agree that it would be far easier to spend it all inside, where safety is guaranteed and comfort almost goes without saying; and yet, with such a remarkable volume of adventure and magic in the land just itching to be experienced, can one truly justify living without ever leaving the house?