Two roads (actually paths) diverged on a flat bit of grassy land near Flatford, in Constable Country, in Essex. One of them had a sign saying Public Footpath, the other said Permissive Path, which (I now know) is just a way or saying, ‘Ok you can walk along here for now but don’t get any fancy ideas about it becoming a public right of way.’
I’m telling this with a sigh, obviously, but not ages and ages hence: I took the public footpath which was in fact ‘the one less traveled by,’ since the other one was the tourist route to Flatford Mill and then Dedham, where apparently lots of people want to go.
And it did make a bit of a difference, because the public footpath less traveled by was heading to Manningtree where I wanted to go, as opposed to the permissive path which led back to Flatford where I’d already been.
I am of course pastiching Robert Frost’s ‘The Road Less Travelled,’ possibly the second most misunderstood poem in the English language. I’d say Wordsworth’s ‘Daffodils’ is themost misunderstood. (I know you’ll scarcely believe this, but some people apparently think it’s about daffodils). What is it about walking and poetry and incomprehension?
But thinking again about the Robert Frost poem, paths being as they are, it’s perfectly possible to take one path one day and then go back another day and take the other one. Which in fact is what I did with the public footpath and the permissive path between Flatford and Manningtree. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
On the other hand, should you find yourself in Hackney Wick, you might come to the conclusion that all roads are equal.
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