I Bought Seven-League Boots

Curiosity led me into a shop of magical artifacts. A pair of red, gleaming boots kept luring my eye, and the sign beneath them – “We’ll bring you wherever you want” – left me no choice. I stepped out of the shop and set off at once.

The boots had one flaw: the moment even the faintest idea appeared of where I wanted to go, they were already carrying me there. All I could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other – the boots were indifferent to fatigue, blisters, and soles worn down. Believe me, taking them off on the move would have been more reckless than braking with the front wheel at full speed.

I fell a lot. I learned to get back up without stopping, to wash the boots in a puddle, to renew the soles with the sidewalk’s scorching resin. Along the way, rare seasoned swift-walkers taught me how to cook and sleep on the move, and shared roads on which those who go slowly will get stuck. Each such meeting opened a new route – and I made it to places where no human foot had stepped for a long time.

Years have passed, and these boots are still on my feet. Sometimes they blind passersby, but to me they’re just footwear now – I couldn’t even imagine how one could wear any other. The thing is, the longer I walked in these boots, the better I understood myself. My legs stopped aching; my mind learned to decide where to slow down, and where it’s worth breaking into a run. Sometimes the boots try to gain the upper hand – but, like a well-broken horse, they quickly return under the rider’s control.

From time to time people tell me I’m going too fast and ask me to slow down. Sometimes I agree: we walk at their pace, we talk. They’re interesting – sometimes, from them, you learn what you would never notice at speed. Together we trampled paths that one person alone would not have laid.

But when the work was done, the boots reminded me of themselves, and I sped up again – to finally see what is hidden in the mountain fog. Perhaps someone was examining drops of dew, and someone else was gathering flowers. Someday they’ll catch up with me and tell me.

Or not.