The girl in the kayak is testing new waters. There are channels all around her, currents previously unseen that are now opening up, and some are less inviting than others, as dark and ominous as the mouth of a cave. Others show promising glimmers of brightness but are lost quickly behind gray fog. Still, she knows they are out there, and she has the paddle, and she has the will. She knows that she must be both patient and aggressive, traits that seem contradictory only if you have never run a long race.
She pushes east through fogbound channels, and then the current catches her and carries her, turns her east to south, and the fog lifts and gray light brightens, brightens, brightens, until she is flying through it and there are glimmers of green and gold in the spray.
Satisfied, she coasts to a stop. Pauses, savoring the beauty of it all, savoring the chance.
When she’s caught her breath, she paddles back upstream. The current spins and guides her, north to south first, then south to north. These are unusual waters, but she’s learning them, learning when to fight them, when to trust them. Each day she travels a little farther and a little faster.
She dips the blade of the paddle and holds it against the gentle pressure, bringing the boat around in a graceful arc. Now she faces the dark mouth of one of the many unknown channels looming ahead. So much of the terrain is unknown, but none of it is unknowable.
There is a critical difference in that.
She paddles forward boldly into the blackness, chasing the light.