I love to wander, to arrive somewhere I don’t know and will never know again. I find deep relief in being amongst complete and total strangers. I don’t need any novelty or surprise site, I’m happy with the oddity of just that paint job, the houses and who might live in them, the rare shocks of beauty, and the monotony of the highways, trees, horizon…It clears my thinking for my eyes to have new to take in. Perhaps it is because I feel no responsibility for this place or its peoples, I am untethered from any sense of cause and effect. I will easily forget each new spot: there is no sense of collecting, marking, or cartography. I just like to see how that roads wind, if something interesting or boring lies on the other side. On rare occasion the shutters of my pupil will click and save a quick picture, something that stunned me, colors that sat in total contrast, a scene framed perfectly – maybe an image I should keep – but it holds no meaning other than this sense of a fresh visual landscape for me to project my life onto. Today it was somewhere outside of Philadelphia, some part where it ends being suburban into fields of farms. As I looked over at the wooden field fence, five horses, all shades of tan and brown, with a foal, all lined up munching away, they could not have been better posed. I draw no great meaning from this site, simply happy that my route took me past.