a metaphor for something, I think

She pulls herself up. There is that vague moment, during which she is not certain whether the meager strength of her arms will suspend her long enough to throw her weight onto the horizontal ledge. She propels herself forward and lands in a heap in the sand, which in its collected and gathered grains, exudes a welcome warmth. The wind sweeps it across the vast planes of rock that she now faces. She squints and tries to make out the sun, which is shrouded in cloud and dust.
She is tired. So tired, that she contemplates taking a small nap, curling up on her side on the stone, with the wind prodding at her back. Her body aches from the climb and her mind just wants to turn off for a while, having been dominated by thoughts of the ascent for what has stretched like forever.
Now that she is here, though, she is not quite sure what to do. She could pick a direction, and hope not to stumble over the accident. She could look for a safe place to sleep or camp. She could look for a water. She looks down at the sand, which is spread lightly over the rock at her feet. She nudges a divot into it with the toe of her shoe. She could stand here and write her name if she wanted.
She turns her head up again, to face the wind. Time spent too long trying to make decisions. She would walk, without much caring about course or motive. Maybe she would find something she needed. Maybe she wouldn't. It mattered only that she walked, not what course she chose or her motive for doing so.
Hours pass or maybe minutes. Maybe she can't tell anymore, or doesn't want to. But eventually she sees the man. He is standing, not walking, just standing. Waiting perhaps. She walks toward him and joins him in his vigil. They don't talk. They don't say poignant things. They don't fall in love. Or realize sudden truths about one another. They merely stand, in each other's presence.
And they wait.