Help me, Will

[David Evers]

> > "Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of
> > Outbuildings, carried Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,--
> > the Sleds are brought in and their Runners carefully dried and
> > greased, Shoes deposited in the back Hall, a stocking'd-foot Descent
> > made upon the great Kitchen, in a purposeful Dither since Morning,
> > punctuated by the ringing Lids of Boilers and Stewing-Pots, fragrant
> > with Pie-Spices, peel'd Fruits, Suet, heated Sugar,-- the Children,
> > having all upon the Fly, among rhythmic slaps of Batter and Spoon,
> > coax'd and stolen what they might, proceed, as upon each afternoon
> > all this snowy Winter, to a comfortable room at the rear of the
> > House, years since given over to their carefree Assaults."
> 
> > It came yesterday morning. Go to town. Beware, though. In hopes of
> > adding a little I.A. Richards/Gene Rayburn piquancy to the whole
> > affair, I've taken the liberty of replacing one of the words with a
> > near-synonym. Any guesses, Pynchomanes?
> 
> Arcs ==> Parabolas?
> 
> Andrew Dinn

snowy ==> white[ned] ?

--
David Evers                mailto:dme at nemesys.co.uk
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