He walked across the sand for a long time,
changing direction each time
a new thought seemed truer than the last.
The sand was all one color.
The sky bore no signs.
The path left no trace.
And then he saw a ring.
It lay in the sand,
almost indistinguishable from it —
the same color,
the same calm.
The ring had no beginning and no end.
It did not point the way.
It made no promise of escape.
He picked it up
and understood:
this was not an ornament,
but a measure.
The desert is like thought:
the more of it there is,
the less movement remains.
Each step feels like progress,
yet the circle closes quietly.
And then he realized:
there was no need to walk faster,
and no need to search for a new path.
What was needed
was to stop
on one precise thought,
the way the eye pauses on gold
amid uniform sand.
Not because gold is brighter,
but because it
holds attention.
He kept the ring
not as a sign of direction,
but as a reminder:
if he were to lose his way again,
the desert would choose for him.
And so he continued forward —
no longer changing his steps,
but keeping an orientation.