Auxesis (ok-see’-sis): (1) Arranging words or clauses in a sequence of increasing force. In this sense, auxesis is comparable to climax and has sometimes been called incrementum. (2) A figure of speech in which something is referred to in terms disproportionately large (a kind of exaggeration or hyperbole). (3) Amplification in general.
The wind was quiet, then blowing, then like a jet engine sweeping across the land. Trees shot through the air like giant leafyl spears, impaling people on their branches. Whole towns disappeared into the sky. Livestock flew. The only safe place was Cliff’s, a convenience store catering to beer drinking, smoking, scratch-off lotto players. People packed in to save themselves as dogs and sheep and cows flew by.
Nobody knew exactly why Cliff’s survived the annual wind storm. The most credible rumor was that Cliff was descended from Viking stock—after all, his last name was Fiord. It was rumored he had a shrine to Njord, the Viking god of the wind. To appease the god he ran an electric fan that blew on the shrine 24-7. It even had a back-up battery for when Njord made the power go out. The constant wind appeased Njord and kept hm from blowing Cliff’s away.
I wanted to believe the rumor. If it was true, I would build a Njord shrine in what remained of my basement. Cliff denied he had a shrine, so I had to do some sneaking around. Cliff’s house was always unscathed by the wind, and his basement windows were painted over. I had to go inside. I had worked briefly for CIA and learned how to pick locks. I knew Cliff was at the store, so I wouldn’t be worried about meeting up with him. I picked the lock and went straight down the basement stairs. There it was!
There was a 70” plasma screen Tv with a box fan blowing on it. I turned on the TV and it was tuned to an episode of “Vikings”—where they were a sacking Paris. Suddenly, I heard a voice with a Danish accent ask “I am Njord. Who in the name of Odin are you?!” I told him I was Cliff’s neighbor and friend and I wanted to build a shrine to Njord. He told me I was looking at one—he told me to just keep the fan blowing and “Vikings” tuned to the TV. Njord swore me to secrecy. If I revealed the secret of the shire, he told me he would “blow me to pieces with one gust of northern wind.” I believed him, so I kept my mouth shut.
Everybody attributed our recurring wind storms to climate change. I knew better. With my shrine running in my basement, my house has remained unscathed for the past 9 years—Cliff has the same kind of “luck.” Every couple of months Njord stops by disguised as an EMT. He brings a bag of Kringle. I make strong coffee and we play Hnefatafl, a board game with a military objective. We talk too. He misses the old days, when the wind was the primary ”fuel” for moving trade and war ships.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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