Writing practice. Crash. 10 minutes.

Crash! Love that sound, like Ash, and Bash, and Brash, words that need to exist in this world obsessed with outward beauty and appearances, the fake, lice and lies. In this world, community, people, give me instead the ashen, the bashen, the brashen. Give me the crash alien and I will climb up a tree like Totoro, with an umbrella hooked on my knee I shall be there, up there and do a vrksasana. Spine aligned, crown of the head touching the sky, straight leg rooted to the ground, bent knee pointed east to the morning sun, and this is my prayer to all the trees of the world: be resilient! Grow! Humans love to destroy, but you keep on growing, sprouting, open your leaves, sink down your roots, for you truly hold the earth together. Crust ticklers, grippers, huggers of the surface of this earth. Reach to the core where metals crash and burn and bring out a vein of gold. Gold. Breathe it out and I shall be happy, worship you, joyful and happy. I shall climb down, and find the next tree. Find the coconut, acacia, malunggay, mangga. Repeat the prayer and the pose for each tree. Humans, come, come and partake the fruits of life. Eat the leaves. Brew them for their tea is health to your lungs and liver. Last night a dragonfly furiously beat its wings against my window screen. I tried to blow it away, but it was only attracted more by my humane breath. I opened the screen, lifted it off where the screw had come loose from the wall and in it came, crashing, attacking cobwebs and terrifying spiders. Terrifying me. Until at last it perched first on my face towel, and then on my daughter's school bag. First grader, age seven. Then it cleaned itself. It was a good omen. I am terrified of roaches. Want to boric them to death. But dragonfly wings I want to have