on esses and tease

Days in days out.

I used to think I never knew when it was going to hit...

At some point in the function, a big sweep would crackle over, straw a' whisking, handles cracking, and the wooden pate and/or demeanor and/or daily countenance would suddenly be riding the wallop. 

I used to think I never knew when it was going to hit, but now I can time it to almost an approximate week, down to the date, practically the street number and address. 

Winter has that lovely lurid undulation of stillness mixed with seething. 

When do you seethe? Got a date in mind? Does it sweep or wash over? A panic attack? Or a warm, hot blooding stream through the arms, legs, gullet-- starting from the eyes, going in for the deep spiral twist, via optic nerve into the central nervous systemic; lusty breaths and slow peaks on either corner of the mouth. The heart regulates everything, telling you however, that time's running out. This  isn't a bad thing, mind you. Once a year it kicks in... always in the dormant winter. 

A little fire under the ass.

Second week of January. 

Time to look at the maps, my friend.