The Wood of Old Desires

The Wood of Old Desires is half a day's journey south of Shaldarenen, a journey best completed by boat on the river Shall from the quayside at the bottom of the Falls of Deception.

The Path of Gold by DMFW with Art Breeder

In the Wood of Old Desires, the Path of Gold sometimes runs from East to West to Elsewhere. It can only ever be found and travelled on certain rare autumn days when the sun is setting in the West, illuminating for less than half an hour, a mystical and quickly vanishing track through the trees. The Path of Gold links the Fey Court to many worlds, including The Autumn Country, Magicians' End, The Lost Retreat and others, but it is an unreliable and deceptive route, which strangers can never travel the same way twice.
In their season, the trees of the Wood of Old Desires bear magical fruit, the fabled golden and silver apples mentioned by the aging poet who once wandered lost here, as if in a dream. Here it was that he glimpsed again the teasing fey some call Roisin Jansul, who had first revealed herself to him on his home world when he was a young man. Roisin lives in the Wood of Old Desires and it is her pleasure to taste the precious apples, to journey between the worlds and to inhabit the dreams of the many mortal men who are granted a vision of her beauty.

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

The Song of Wandering Aengus
William Butler Yeats