The lad came to the base of an ungodly high cliff face.
The next height could not be seen through the gathering mists.
It seemed our would-be hero, had reached his end. This impediment would be the thing to end his quest.
He removed his cap, tossing it to the ground in frustration.
He ruffled his matted hair and paced back and forth. As though the ritual would make the mountain somehow smaller, or himself taller.
Neither occurred.
With a sigh, he picked up his crumpled hat, placed it on his head, and began to walk back the way he came.
But then he stopped and looked back at the impediment to his journey. One with no perceivable end. Or even a beginning . . .
So, seized by impulse, he clasped the rim of his cap and tossed it up into the mist.
When it didn't fall back down to Earth, the man smiled in spite of himself.
He wasn't about to scale a mountain.
He just needed to fetch his hat. After all, he couldn't very well return without it now, could he?
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