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| Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
First lines:
What was, at dawn, a red willow arbor is by afternoon a loosely-packed iglu far south of that structure’s native land.
Heavy wet flakes, one inch rapidly becoming two, more descending steadily as a shrouded sun begins its downward arc.
It seems cold, but it is shelter, flakes and twigs and air combining to insulate its tiny inhabitant, seated amidst and astride a crosshatch of red and white lines.
It is a small spirit, but a fierce one, one willing to face down much larger cousins in the contest for food. He is a being of the interstices himself, this bird whose name refers to his white crown, a crown that is actually white and black, his own embodiment of positive/negative display of lines and spaces.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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