I spent the better part of a year living out of a suitcase. Two suitcases, to be more exact. Two suitcases and two carry-ons, if I really want to come clean. 

Sometimes it was easy to lose track of where I was. I’d awake whenever my jet-lagged decided, slightly disoriented and confused. But with time, places would start to feel familiar enough to call home. And once I had fully settled and adapted to the new norms and routines of wherever I was, it was time to head off to the next location. 

During that time, I became especially sensitive to the light that filtered through the windows of whatever room I happened to find myself in, especially in the mornings. My observations of the meandering light and shadow became a way to commit those transient homes to memory.