Jarad Dewing remembers what it means to be alive.
We live in a world where pirates still stalk the southern seas.
Gnarled old men walk trap-lines with trusted dogs in the Siberian winter, live in handmade huts of hewn logs and moss, gnaw on frozen fish, just to collect meager pelts. I saw those carved faces smile.
Hurricanes and earthquakes are thrown like wedding rice; the fables were true, the earth means to swallow us.
On an urban street I can only guess that every third person holds some ugly tool to hurl spoonfuls of death at a half-mile-per-second, and I’d never see it coming. Or some scared kid in a too-heavy vest may disappear in a puff of red and take me with him.
Just going out for smokes is an adventure. I’m so fucking thankful.
We live in a world where danger is not extinct, where daring and fear and quests still exist. And so we know when the blood fills our face and our hearts race and tremble, we are damn well sure still alive.
Photo: flickr/Darij & Ana