six in snow suits like sardines brian dickson (photograph by Christopher Morris, TIME war, Saravejo 1994) Someone tried to walk in there, maybe the sexy president, his hair all camouflaged in the powder. Strange he didn’t see the fire- red sled arranged like a tombstone, the blades burrow like worm’s bodies in the maze of a moist morning. Plumes of smoked holes marked the silver, cloaked fingers that scaled the skin shiver. No, no— let’s not go in there, the simplest of packages, the shimmer fins of sardines cooled prints in the snow.