What I learned in September

Watercolor has value like the iron pot. The latter is solid. Round. Always waiting and doing what you know to be true. Making things so you don't have to. Full to the brim. The patience of stillness. There is risk in the other. Worldly. She flows and engulfs until you're drunk at the ledge, like wind on the first sign of summer's end. Hues dissolving to tears, seep into the bloodstream, stains on the ribcage, never leaving the in side of you as she disappears.