Crowning turd

The days are now slowly getting longer. Waning towards the racing season. Can I make it. I know I can but sometimes feel the darkness take hold like an endless dream of a tar pit dragging me down into winter's digesting foul bowels. Waiting to be shat out and free to be the happy throttling turd I am.  This is the time of the season I plan my attack. Devise the battle plan and make the most of what worn weapon I have heaped in my shop. Making a nickel purchase a dimes worth. The commerce of my business nears hibernation. A ground squirrel holed up in the frozen dirt. The heart beats so faint, feeding only enough blood to keep the brain alive. Ready for the first sign of the season to re-boot and slowly shake away the inactive death virus that many a man has fell victim. Replenishing health and the divine will of nature to shred. Shred!