He stood at the riverbank, watching the current move without asking his permission.
In winter, the water rushed with force, full and indifferent, almost proud. In summer, when thirst was greatest, the flow weakened, trickling slowly through cracked earth, offering itself quietly to those who needed it most. He had watched this for years and never made peace with it.
He crouched down and let his fingers skim the surface. The water did not pause for him.
Why can't the river wait until it is needed? he asked aloud, his voice swallowed by the current. Why can't we stop the flow and let it run again on demand? Why do my seeds not grow at the same speed as my dreams?
The river stilled.
Not entirely, but enough. The surface shimmered like glass held up to a pale sky, and for a moment the world around him went quiet, as though it too was listening.
Then a voice rose from the water, gentle but carrying the weight of something very old.
I can only be here for a second before I am pushed forward by every drop behind me. Each drop has its place already: a root waiting underground, a thirsty village downstream, a weary traveller who does not yet know he is coming, an ocean longing to be whole again. If I waited for your command, the cycle would break. Not just for you, but for all of them. Your seeds would wither. Your dreams would hollow out. Even your questions would lose their meaning.
Let me flow, the voice continued, softer now. And let things take their rightful course.
The water moved again, carrying his questions downstream until they disappeared around the bend. He stayed where he was, crouched at the bank, fingers still damp.
He had spent so long wanting life to arrive on his terms, his season, his pace, his readiness. But the river had no such arrangement with anyone. It simply came, gave what it had, and moved on. And in that faithfulness to its own nature, it sustained everything.
He stood up slowly. Not with answers, but with something quieter than answers.
He understood now that not all things wait for our command. Some gifts are true only in their own time. And the wisest thing a man can do is not to stop the flow, but to be ready when it reaches him.