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Show 34, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] "At that hour of the morning the lost are tuning in on their little portable Sonys. From the belly of the great fish. From sheol." "' < Snowforts. . ."he began with the seventh graders. "Like igloos?" a small girl asked politely. "Well something like igloos, the way we built them," he continued. "If you can picture, maybe from the cartoons, that first damp snow, and how a snowball snowballs. You see, you've rolled it as far as you can, dead weight, it fights you, you go for help, the snowball is too big--you have to break it up, drag it on a sled, the way the wonders of the world were built. Dark now, it's the shortest day of the year. Your friends call in the shadows of the gray flakes. Someone's dad sets up a flood light. "Architects! You've cut your window, your tower, and stockpiled the hard balls to drop on an enemy, and look, the rain that somehow broke in for a moment at 30°, that you'd worried would wash it all away, has put a rime or a glaze on the sloping sides of the snowfort-- why it's as fine as a castle moat. . .but look! Your sentry has spotted the kids that live on the other side of the hill, running at you in the cold, little masked bandits, something like raccoons--" The bell rang. "No!" the seventh graders cried. |