Scarve

A cowl scarved her shoulders.

He liked the air of discreetness that scarved the town—the atmosphere of gentility and circumspection and tread-wariliness and calf-bound bookishness in which it was steeped.

[…] Of opal clouds that scarve the sky / When pearl grey wisps of dusk float by, / Of lace that spiders have spun new / To catch a drift of tinsel dew; […]

Winding black clouds scarved its base, black streaks on its snow top; […]

The mist that had scarved his eyes dissolved and he saw everything at once with new and startling perception, aware of the folds and pleats of the curtains and in Laurie’s dress, the texture of which stood out as clearly as features in a rarefied landscape opening before his eyes.

He’s there and there she is, curled up fetally inside the shabby old orange sleeping bag on the mattress, the brocade headrag loosely scarving her bare head against the cold.

Richard gently removed the soft hands that scarved his neck.

That began to change a year or two later when, seduced by the extraordinary, proto-apocalyptic cover art of Thomas Pynchon’s V. in its Bantam edition—a stormy Tanguy flatland surrounded by distant, blood-rivered mountains and occupied only by an ultra-realistic, silk-bedizened woman whose red hair scarved her face, and, beside her, a giant, Rockwell-font V carved from stone , all of it a painting signed by someone named ‘Bama’—I stole what might’ve been my first Adult Novel.

The wisping mists of cold that scarved the tubes grew more dense, more active, until the whole room was clammy with their breath.

[…] he sensed no other world than what he saw, he caught no glimpse of some celestial river other than the chimneys of the humbling Oise and the soft fog that scarved the hills at morning, though, inexplicably, aspens with one noise silvered her name, a joy without a warning.