weasels ovenbird In the nadir of night I am woken by a painful spasm in my left foot. Frenetic weasels wind their way from tibia to talus, settling themselves in the cradle of my arch where they twitch obnoxiously while chasing sleep. They steal the rest that should be mine and my attempts at eviction are unsuccessful. I press thumbs into the plantar fascia, desperate to drive the hypnic interlopers out to no avail. I perform balletic pointing of my toes thinking I might stretch the offending muscles and soothe them into submission, but they resist all coaxing. In the end it is I who must submit to these uninvited guests who turn a million circles before finally melting into the embrace of my metatarsals and staying, ever so briefly, quiet. 250612 what's it to you? who go blather from