I first met the origamist as winterâ€™s icy claws finally retracted in favor of a cool Washington, D.C. spring. He was sitting near the riverâ€™s edge with his small white folding table perched over his lap like a stilt-legged bird. Buds of pink cherry blossoms had just begun to bloom around the National Mall and a pale haze of the flowers hung above his head like a floating crown. He was so absorbed in folding his paper sculpture that he didnâ€™t seem to notice meâ€”at least not until I greeted him.
|Paper Castles by Alycia Christine|