Well-ivoried in my tower on College Hill this morning. Yesterday, I stayed in the tower, trying to digest the stubborn and elegant cellulose of Marx and Weber. Snow filmed my windows over, and when I peaked through every few hours, the trees seemed to have sunk. Midnight last night, we took Ratty trays to the streets down the hill and danced with the plows and 4-wheel drivers and the RISD students who had designed their own sleds out of bicycle handle bars, snowboards, and chairs.