Please be wild and terrify us, forever. We need your mystery, a constant reminder that we are not invincible. I love that you exist beyond the boundaries, in the spaces beyond my peripheral vision.
I lived in Manhattan for a time, starting in 2001. I heard what I though was a car backfiring, and later, the buildings all of us had never noticed before burning and falling. It was indescribably horrible; West 8th, where I lived, became a spontaneous shrine and search center, with sawhorses that stretched for what seemed like miles, all covered in posters advertising lost loved ones.
The city was transformed, not just by the ash that fell for days -- suddenly we were all, as a city, reminded of how tenuous our connection to this world is. I had never felt so vulnerable. It caused me to reassess everything in my life, move home and ultimately come here to study to become what I had always wanted to be. But that memory, that reminder of how little time we have here, fades, as does that commitment to living as we should: with the knowledge that it will all slip away.
This is why I treasure wild animals, and the sea, and perilous heights, and anything else in life that is not inherently violent, but which reminds us, or me, of my smallness and vulnerability, and the preciousness of who I know, where I am, and the importance of taking advantage of all the goodness life has to offer.