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
