I love rust. There was a time when I hated it and polished it away with intensity. Now I see rust as the forerunner of nostalgia. It reminds me of big dreams on their way out. I helps me remember that we, all of us, are just visiting, momentary, relentlessly trying to leave a mark, that will end up as a red stain. Nothing wrong with that, rust is a lovely color, indicative of the iron we all carry around with us, rushing through the corridors of our bodies.
It's good to remember that the top of the heap you thought you might arrive at, is going to make some lovely pigment someday.