One grassy area of the Grove, instead of being mowed like the rest of the grass, has been allowed, in the hope of encouraging wild life, to follow its own inclinations. The result, after only a few weeks, is the appearance of wild flowers not usually seen in this little park. Buttercups and clover are profuse. There are docks and sorrels, bugle and a patch of heath bedstraw, shown here among the blades of grass.
Walking across the Grove from the Sutherland Road entrance to the Compasses, I strike out across the grass, and ignore the paths. I reflect that most roads and paths are the result of people or animals taking a particular route over the years until it becomes established. New routes, new paths, new roads take time, and sometimes courage.
A middle aged woman comes out of the front door of her house holding a compress to the top of her head. Her husband leads the way to their car. "It looks worse than what it is," says the woman. She laughs, perhaps to reassure me.
3 comments:
Yes, sometimes the path is the most logical, shortest, safest, most level etc route, sometimes it's simply where someone else went before, and everyone assumes it's the right way, even if it's really quite arbitrary, and sometimes it used to be the right way but no longer is...
Loved the little broad bean embryos!
But then there's always the Guermantes way...
The subject of paths seems to be worth at least one essay. The Geurmantes way and Swann's way too were walks rather than paths, wern't they? But doubtless also deserve an essay in their own right. Thank you for opening up the subject.
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