The color shifted along the way. Those shifts felt like the different things I'm working through at once. The path felt familiar too — moving alongside people I care about, not on the same course, but parallel. Each of us in our own current.

Years ago, during a relentless drought, I felt an urge to paint the energy of rain. As I let the brush move, a title came into my awareness: The Incredible Structure of Rain. It was as if the painting already existed and was waiting to be revealed.

I never expected a painting to become part of my healing, but here I am. One day I got out my acrylics and a sheet of cold press watercolor paper, with no plan and no image in mind, just a knowing that my prostate needed something beyond words.

I painted it in honor of the brave women in my family who have faced breast cancer. I often forget how much my body holds, emotionally and physically. The breast means nourishment, care, and life itself, and it deserves that love in return.

For a while I wasn't sure how the geometry would resolve, and I thought the forms might clash. Instead a large spiral emerged, made of edges and angles that each flowed into the next. There was harmony in the contrast — soft and sharp, organic and geometric, effort and surrender.

What appeared was surprising. The image was almost botanical, organic and alive with movement, carrying the essence of growth and responsiveness. It wasn't rigid, the way I usually perceive money in the world. It felt fluid, breathing, connected.