On the side of the country lane a wooden post holds a sign indicating the route of a public footpath. Hardly a mile goes by without passing another one, maybe more. They don't stand out, so common they hardly register as we motor by. Some of us have explored where they lead, others have not.

Some follow hedgerows, ditches; others strike across open fields. Wherever they are, the landowner has a legal obligation to allow free unhindered public access. Growing crops must be cut or sprayed to keep paths clear.

Many of these paths were formed by country folk walking to church, work or market, taking the shortest route across the fields. In 1948 they were recognised and given legal status on the definitive map.

Close to villages the paths are well used. In more remote areas some are barely walked from one year to the next. Even so, they are still legal rights of way.

The celebrated fell wanderer Alfred Wainwright put together his famous Coast to Coast walk by connecting existing rights of way to form a continuous route from the Atlantic to the North Sea, passing through three National Parks.

Almost a kind of accident of history, the footpath network is now a National Treasure.

The character of a man
Can be best explained
In the way they act
When no one's watching them

Do they do right in the way
When there's no one there to say
Do they hold tight to the line
Time after time after time

A lot can be said
About the character of a man
In the way they act
When no one's watching them

woke up late sweaty moist tired
hurried to get my clothes on brush my teeth
ran out without my phone
came back and fed the kids
the labrador and the three musty cats
grabbed my phone
ran out forgot my keys
came back and changed their water dishes
brushed my teeth again to insure
the beer breath was at least minty
went out again started the van
and decided to say **** it all
I have cash
tomorrow I will do the work
today I am gonna
lay around like a lazy cat or labrador and
if someone knocks on the door
I may pant but I ain't getting up

We're all in a bit of a pickle
All in a bit of a jam
We'd like our cake and eat it too
If we possibly can

We'd like to take the biscuit
The icing on the cake
But for now it's hard cheddar
We'll just have to wait

Later...

Arriving by dark...at the house...
I am nearer the closed front door,

but, i wait....'til my nose.....almost levels your arm
we both stop..........you  look me in the eye

suddenly..... you plant a kiss on my forehead
you're a bit taller, still...we look at each other,

eyes glow...they do best, to communicate...faster

..................."later," ..............

i got the message.....without the voice

warm breaths    intensify...fingers   touch   lightly
exploring possibilities.........expecting,
the  affirmation....of a promise....for more:

.................................. "now!" .......................

you open the door....for me..........................


Sally

Copyright October 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Upon a huge, lush garden,
on a cold autumn day...
various leaves fall, in sweet surrender...
some still rise and go with the forceful wind
floating...along with dreams, wishes and prayers
murmured in the air...uttered fervently
...from near......or faraway places
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

papers, leaves, souls, sighs, and whispers
all circulate, dance in the air...blending with nature
like drifters...and seekers, far from their homes
their habitats...their comfort zones,
suspended, in the atmosphere of every season
...yielding...to the will of the wind,
...while the wind obeys...the will of God
they swirl...land, on new destinations
face new dimensions...
friendlier seas...no more running, just waiting,
while winds of change settle down
touching new base, new grass,
hoping, for a peaceful existence,
for some....the end of life's turbulent journey
..........on safe...tranquil grounds...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

somewhere near, or far...huge gardens exist
where leaves fall, where some rise again,
where new beginnngs, new lives are offered...
havens that welcome and accommodate
...refugees...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sally


Co­pyright August 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

........
........
Past eight in the ev'ning....rainy sky
Was out at the verandah...twas time
To pull the second bar of the gate
Street was a bit dark..........despite my dimming sight
I could see shapes...sensed some presence...heard soft noises'
Permeating the cool night atmosphere...three voices
Four guests, as in past nights...waiting outside...

A rushing, and tingling of plates, ladles and pots
The opening and closing of the glass door
After a while, our guests were served late dinner
Complaining.....in their own familiar way

Three impatient stray cats, kept meow-ing,
The neighbor's dog...as usual...patiently waited...
The brown-striped cat ran to the vacant lot
And started licking her share of fishhead
While the younger two, shared a single plate.
They all contentedly, ate in silence...

After a while...one by one,
Our regular guests disappeared
Lost, in the dark....among the tall banana plants
Sheltered themselves....somewhere safe,  
Their purrs, and hushed yelping,
Faded...in the black distance...
:::::::
:::::::::::::::::::
Twas time, to secure the bar of the gate,
.....................time, to close for the night...



Sally

Copyright October 24, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan