I think when I think that I hold within something like skaters on a rink. I know at least that the metaphor must have lots of bits, now separate, now blending, like elements of stew. From time to time judges and the public call all before, ask them to conform to common figure. Without a sound, save some icy scraping, the bits try to seem present and becoming. Do they know they are competing for places on the rubbish heap of history? If one gets lucky, it is preserved in print, like a pickle. David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html