DOME, a long-line sonnet, for Bucky Fuller...

THE IMAGE ABOVE was made after the snowy winter of 2011, snow which lingered above 2000 m. well into July. I spend a lot of time in domes, or geodesic tents. I can remember getting my very first little blue one years ago. During storms, I've had plenty of time to admire the elegant curves of their geometry, and their amazing flexibility and strength. I've come to enjoy this kind of close-to-the-ground life style, without beds, and, tables, and chairs. So much so, in fact, that as I venture back to the lowlands, I find it hard to believe the box-like square structures that have come to stand for the economy of comfort and style in industrial Western culture. Indeed, it seems like we all now live in beige boxes, go to work and sit all day in front of beige boxes, and most likely will be buried in one, too. Very odd. Below is a long-line sonnet, a kind of love song, or song of praise, to the humble geodesic . . . DOME . . . It is, of course, dedicated to the deeply resonant legacy of the great R. Buckminster Fuller. SEE TEXT at http://bit.ly/1E0WCFm