A year or so ago, like many other stressed-out adults searching for a bubble of calm in a turbulent world, I turned to a solution that was trending through social media: coloring. It was a fairly good solution, too. Coloring, for however long I chose to enjoy it, provided a period of quiet meditation combined with guided creativity. After a tempestuous day of corporate politics and political upheaval, I could look forward to spending an hour, head down, blending colors across mandalas and designs with whatever palette suited my whim. I could listen to music or to the birds outside in the wisteria or to the simple, basic sound of pencil and paper. It was a refuge, a Fortress of Coloring Solitude.
But when my father died, I stopped. (more…)
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The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
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The Cry of the Wind
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