I like the word PATH [from the Old English pæth). It has a nice, straight-forward sound to it. One humble syllable is all it needs to convey to the hearer its modest purpose, and a mere single vowel to make pronunciation uncomplicated. P a t h. Perhaps because I am a walker, I am attracted to this word, for a path is a way laid down for walking. No devoted walker would be put off by the above sign as, in truth, a true ambler doesn’t care much about direction. It is the austere act of walking that is important, the down-to-earth act of using one’s own legs to get from place to place, spurning more complicated, usually motorized, forms of transport. Walking is as often an end in itself, not just a means to get somewhere. I walk, ergo I am.
Path also can mean a course of action or conduct. The path of one’s life can be determined by one’s profession, or one’s dutiful commitment to another, or even where one is born.
Sometimes a path may be created over time by the coincidence of its use. Where many people trod over time through a field, a path may become worn along the way.
It is pleasant to think of a path, as opposed to a street or a road. Just the sound of these hard words… STREET… ROAD… makes them sound less desirable than a simple path. Streets and roads are generally paved with cement or asphalt. Paths are generally unpaved, a more forgiving surface. I’m sure that Robert Frost, had he thought about it more, would have written:
Two paths diverged in a wood, and I – / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.