September again, a lazy river pathway to October. Not much different from August here minus the dwindling daylight hours. I try to drink from the river by dipping my cup. Submerging it time and time again—restless.

Little leaves on the surface and a million dabs of light dance there too. I quickly bring the cup up to my mouth in an attempt to drink from it—closing my eyes in the process. In anticipation. Only to find it empty once again.

I dip, submerge, I feel the water flow around my hands (I know it’s real, I know it’s real) repeating my last steps right down to the emptiness. The lazy river keeps moving and I stay kneeling at its banks in the setting sun—one with the river but never fully submerged and never allowed to drink from it.