No Need to Live Past Forty
The myth of fairytale. The fairytale of myth. A vast tundra of thundering elk. Eskimos and whale bone and seaweed. A place without credentials. A place of beating hearts and boots made of seal skin.
There’s no room for legends, no idle time to grow old in. The commonplace is heroic. When the long winter comes the tribe sits in a bundled circle and stares up at the stars. When the sun shines without setting they shed their robes and marvel at their bodies.
There’s no need to live past forty, but those who do are treated with kindness.
