The old plaid board atop the merchandize store swayed as the lark swoop down and rested its feet to the board’s jagged edge: the sod of its ancestor’s flock. As the bird perched, it gazed at the storm of dusts that blazed like a dark fog out of the earth’s crust. Below, echoes of chaos numbed the stifling air as metal centipedes crisscrossed against iron beetles’ flair. Soon after a silent prayer the lark flew free to a place far away. For many years, this lark sat on thousand checkered boards yet it can’t still find the Tree. The plaid board already freed of the bird’s weight swayed and swayed and swayed. It sways until today.