Too close our hearts are,
Too close to breaking.

Too high our dreams are,
Too high to keep us on the ground.

Too far our friends are,
Too far to even call them our friends.

Too cruel our hearts are,
But maybe not too cruel for the world we live in.

To comfort me the rain hums a tune
as if she could sense I was feeling down
I get buoyant by the soothing tone,
pick up the strands that once were broken

Drenched woods after the rain has gone,
with the wind,repeat it, but sounds like a moan,
it takes  much subtlety, to empathize, I learn
to evoke sublime feelings that touch and lift the soul.

With just a glance, it seemed as if I knew,
Everything about her, but my predictions were far from right.
She saw through me, my soul, and her faith in me grew,
But, I made her a promise, in which I broke without a dose of regret that night.
No hope, surviving in a world without noticing my one desire; happiness.
But, my heaven sent an angel to change my unworthy heart.
Yet I made the mistake of taking her kindness for granted.
God, she was a piece of living art.
Underneath the constellations, is where love stood and pain was felt,
And so much love was there when she confessed a terrible truth.
Cancer tangled in her cells, and as blue tears fell from her eyes,
I knelt on one knee and asked her hand in marriage.
In days, I no longer saw a never.
My angel, who returned to heaven, left behind, a forever.

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 marriage of sunshine and seawater
turned to bristling diamonds is a form of communication , a plea from an alien nation , a call for a congregation* ...

Thus, humanity comes to an end
not with a whimper or a bang
but with heads held down
by the gravity of digital devices.
Strangers dissolve.
Flashing screens absolve us
of the need to meet.
The outside shades
of orange, purple,
white, and gray
fade away.
Humans disassociate.
Conversation evaporates
to be replaced by a stenography
texting quality
paired with a variety of emojis.
Years of evolution
Are discarded within the span
of a few generations.

You may say giving in is easy
But I swear it's not
You may see surrender as the way of living
But I swear it's not
You are going to support yourself
No matter who stops you
You are going to be you
No matter who scold you
You are not going to change
No matter who ask you
You be you
You do you
You are who you are