У меня не может получится такая поэтическая картинка, но мне кажется я понимаю её.
Мой вариант:
...unlocked the garden fence by throwing it toward the end of the world, suddenly grubbed a jumble of pathways and they all started spinning on the way: wide, narrow ones, smooth, beaten and overgrown with blackthorn - from there to far away...



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