WordPress wants brands. I scoff.

Brands? I think of the crack in my driveway, shaped like a river delta.

Of the way crickets chirp in disjointed harmony at dusk.

Of the musty smell of old books in the attic.

Through the window, a neighbor walks his dog. Same route, same time, every day.

I type: “No brands.”

The cursor blinks. Judging. I delete it.

My memory drift to the tree in my park by the river. Moss creeps up its north side, a living compass. Silent. Steady. Indifferent to human concepts like brands or time.

I turn back to the screen.

“My brand is-“

I stop. Stare at the words.

Then I close the laptop. Stand up. Walk outside.

The grass is damp beneath my bare feet.

A crack in the asphalt becomes a river of lava in my mind.

The moss on the old oak transforms into a sprawling kingdom.

No brands needed here.