text_original: Next morning we waked in midwinter, the flakes flying thick and furious over a park that was no longer a pasture, but a blind drift of snow. We lived in camp, perfectly comfortable. Down at the Forks I had had made a rough imitation of a Sibley stove.
text_transcription: NEXT MORNING WE WAKED IN MIDWINTER THE FLAKES FLYING THICK AND FURIOUS OVER A PARK THAT IT WAS NO LONGER A PASTURE BUT A BLIND DRIFT OF SNOW WE LIVED IN CAMP PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE DOWN AT THE FORKS I HAD MADE A ROUGH IMITATION OF A SIBBLY STOVE
phonemes: nˈɛkst mˈɔːɹnɪŋ wiː wˈeɪkt ɪn mˈɪdwɪntɚ, ðə flˈeɪks flˈaɪɪŋ θˈɪk ænd fjˈʊɹɹiəs ˌoʊvɚɹ ɐ pˈɑːɹk ðæt wʌz nˌoʊ lˈɑːŋɡɚɹ ɐ pˈæstʃɚ, bˌʌt ɐ blˈaɪnd dɹˈɪft ʌv snˈoʊ. wiː lˈɪvd ɪn kˈæmp, pˈɜːfɛktli kˈʌmftəbəl. dˌaʊn æt ðə fˈɔːɹks aɪ hæd hæd mˌeɪd ɐ ɹˈʌf ˌɪmɪtˈeɪʃən əvə sˈɪbli stˈoʊv.