And the river diverges, infinitely.
Into laziness. Ease. Into chaos. Calm.
And all paths converge, in the end. 

This boy hit many a rock, and he learned to swim a few paces behind his fellows. His life as a boy taught him many a trick, gave him many a skill. Along with his fellows, he swam in the river, and he watched from behind as they made their choices. Diverged. Triumphed. Drowned. And when it came time to choose his own course, he faltered; he found himself looking to the sky. 

He planted his feet in the shallows and stood, watching those younger than himself pass. Again, he looked to the sky, and the questions fell upon him like ash. Why? Why this way? Why that? How many men have swum this path?  Who will I be when I breathe my last?  

All the while, his fellows passed. All the while, the river swept by his ankles, burying his feet in the sand. All the while, he looked to the sky. 

And here he remains, aging. Looking to the gray sky for answers.