These boxes and lines are my morning geometry. Every once in a while I jolt out of a dream and look around puzzled at my surroundings. Where am I? In my tent? Where’s my tent situated? I think for a bit. Usually it comes to me.
Although a necessity, I've grown to be a fan of the gentle light inside my tent. The subtle color changes when the wind blows between the rain fly and inner mesh. Crisp details, then vague shadows of the outer cords and hooks in the wall ripples. The geometric lines illuminated by leafy shadows. Trying to position my self so that all of the cords and seams are perfectly perpendicular to my sight line.
The longer I’m on the road, the more commonplace these scenes are becoming, and the more at home I feel back in the west, and under my orange ceiling.