Paths are not for people who need to be first, who need to be trail-blazers, but they offer the symbolic idea that there is a way in life
A narrow path wound up the mountain, disappearing from view as it entered the Pyrénéen oak forest. To one side sheep milled nervously, trying to decide what to do about me. On the other side a small noticeboard indicated this was the path used by partisans to guide refugees across the Pyrénées in the second world war . There was an immediate thrill of connection; I was walking in their brave footsteps. I set off up the path as the sheep scattered.
I’ve never been able to resist a path. As a child I longed to find a proper path – narrow, winding, destination hidden – but there were only broad, flat paddocks with an occasional aimless sheep-trail meandering with impenetrable sheep-logic across the landscape – no chance of hidden pathways. In those days it was a longing for adventure, the possibility that something could happen or be discovered that I didn’t already know about in this wide, open landscape, but the attraction of paths has lasted and is multistranded. What makes me – most of us – feel impelled to walk along it whenever we see a path, even a photograph of one?
