The Hammock: a Tale of Coming Full Circle

Not too long ago, someone tagged me with a photo of my first traditionally published book, The Colors of the Rain, which she was reading in a hammock.

She was reading in a hammock. She was reading my book.

In a hammock.

When I was a girl, I often wandered out to the hammock strung between two oak trees beside my lifted-foundation home. When I wanted to get away from the house that felt too empty without my father’s large presence inside. When I wanted to escape from my mother’s figure bent ov...