The Field of Borrowed Footprints

There was a field where no one left their own footprints. Instead, each person walking across saw steps from someone before them — a wandering poet, a grieving mother, a child who once danced in the rain. A traveler arrived searching for a sign of direction. As he crossed the field, he saw footprints circling, pausing, starting again. He followed them until they merged into a straight line. Only then did he realize they were his own — imprints from a past visit he had forgotten. The field whispered its lesson: sometimes you must walk in your own past to find your future.