The gentle sound of the waist-high reeds swishing lazily against one other accompanied the nomad as she trekked across the high-lands.
She had wondered and trudged unabated until the reeds suddenly broke into the moss-covered rocks of a river's edge. The river was large and fast moving with white-tipped waves spattering its surface.
The nomad after some thought, determined that she could not pass and opted to stay at the rivers edge until she felt ready to proceed.
Days passed. The water never ceased it's intensity nor lowered it's depth, so the nomad stayed at the waters edge. Waiting for the day that would allow her to proceed.
As each day passed she grew more and more frustrated with the river. Annoyed that it had not yet seemed to ever cease or lower. Surely she couldn't overcome a river that large or strong. So still, she waited.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to seasons. The grass around her slowly turned to brown. The nomad still did not feel it time to proceed.
At long last, after discerning that the cold weather would not help her cross, the nomad decided that she could wait no longer.
She gathered her wits and took the first step into the dark water. She braced herself for the onslaught of water to drag her under, certain that she would not resurface if it took her. But no assault came to take her.
She took another step. Then another, then another.
The river, although fierce-looking was deceitful. The water swirled and spit angrily but was not difficult to pass.
The nomad was strong and fit. She crossed easily, almost lazily.
She pulled herself up and gazed across the river that had for so long been her foe. It swished along beside her, indifferent.
The river had never actually hindered her at all.
