Thursday! The E-Zine for December 13, 2023

V4, I3

This week, I have a couple unusual things that, I think, need just a little bit of explanation. Not that they're wrong nor too weird nor anything like that but all of what I’ve written for this week’s Thursday! require just a little additional seasoning to make them even more delicious. Interested? I do hope so.

The poems are special because I wrote them for my church bulletin. I’ve never written anything creative for a church I’ve attended before, mostly because I was afraid I’d cross some theological line but also because most of the poems you see in evangelical publications have a certain form and feel. They tend toward the extremely inspirational and feel like they were written by an elderly Baptist church organist some time in the 1930s. Now, I don’t think there’s anything at all wrong with those poems. Plenty of people like them, take inspiration and solace from them, and keep them close to their hearts. That’s not my kind of poetry, though. My kind of poetry is, well, you can see for yourself in just a minute or so. I trust you’ll find them interesting and worthy of where they were published!

The story in this week’s issue isn’t a complete story as such. It’s more a scene that might take place in a larger story. Really, it’s my way of sharing with you an old legend that exists in a world that doesn’t. Yet.

I’ll say a bit more about this in next week’s issue. Cool? Cool.

Read on!

Poems

• Hope Against Hope

• The Peace of Sheep

Story

• Smokey the Haint

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Hope Against Hope

We look for hope in the hands of the mighty,
In the banks of the wealthy,
In the most brilliant minds.

We look for hope in the best of intentions,
In the self-made righteous,
In our own sacrifices.

We look for hope, but we find it escapes us,
From the tips of our fingers,
From our most clever plans.

We yearn for hope and cry out for saving
From the hurt of our hearts,
From the blood on our hands.

We pray for hope and find that God sent it
In the form of a child,
In His stable-born Son.

We hope against hope and we wait for His coming
In the faith that He gave us,
In the great Holy One.

The Peace of Sheep

Do you think the sheep were scared that night
When the angel army rent the skies
And sang the peace of God to earth?

Or do you think they slept more sound, more tight
Because they knew God had just declared
They were now safe from sacrifice?

No more would their blood be required
To cleanse the ways of sinful men,
To atone for wrongs they didn’t commit.

Do you think in their sleepy, sheepy minds
They thanked their Creator, who made sweet grass,
For the Good Shepherd, who loves all His sheep?

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Smokey the Haint

“YALOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” 

Yonder called to the gaggle of boys scattered through the woods. Almost at once, he heard their answering chirps and caws from all sides. They were better at mimicking creatures of the Woods – the music of nature came more easily to the young – but still very raw at moving silently over the crisp leaves and broken branches of the Woods in autumn. He frowned at the noise they made coming into camp, but not too hard. Loud was the way of boys and trying to bluster that out of them would hurt them as surely as not teaching them care and craft.

He waited by the well-blazing fire as the young Wanderers dashed into the clearing and sat down, eagerly and attentively. Dinner would come shortly, but first came instruction. A legend. A story. Something from the Long Past that lingered even today, the knowledge of which might help them stay alive in a world that too often sought their blood. Yonder counted heads until he reached 15 – a goodly number of candidates this year, he noted with a touch of unexpected optimism. The past few years had been rough. The Woods were…noisier. 

Yonder cleared his head with a deep breath, took a few paces around the campfire to double-check that all his students were accounted for and settled in, and began.

***

The first thing you must remember is the Woods are Wild. No matter how long you Wander nor how wise your craft, the Woods are wild and you are not. You are a creature of whatever civilization created you and a creature is where it is from. You might hear talk that you can teach a person to be great like God, or base like a beast. You can’t. That talk is silly and dangerous. You would not keep a bear in your house, even one you raised from a cub, would you? No. A bear is of the woods and the woods are wild. If you remember that always, you will avoid the worst dangers. 

Speaking of bears, let me tell you of Smokey the Haint. Now, now. Settle. You like the stories, yes? You’ve heard many of them, I’ll wager, from your parents or Grands. They are good stories and some of them are even true, though not very many. Don’t be surprised, young Wanderers. That is the way of stories. Most that you hear will not be true, or will carry only a small piece of the truth in them. One of the things you must learn – I will help you some, but this is a thing that comes with doing and listening and thinking – is what is true and what is not. Tonight, I will tell you as much truth as I know about Smokey. Let me tell you what children do not know. 

Smokey the Haint is not just a camp story, like the Red Eye or the Tent Goblins. Smokey is real – a powerful presence in the deep woods, where your Wandering will take you. You will encounter her, so listen carefully, so you will know her before she knows you. Smokey was a real bear, in the Long Past, normal as any black bear you see in any of the woods around here and worthy of caution. As a cub, she was saved from a terrible fire that burned a large swath of the Woods away down south, where she was born. Those that rescued her used their know-how to keep track of her so that no matter where she went, they would know of her. They could see to her health and keep her safe from other people who might want to do her ill. 

No, Jansin, I don’t know who would have wanted that. Just know there were people who didn’t respect the wild things of our world and they are what brought us to where we are now. Beings like that still exist. That’s why we Wanderers do what we do. You’ll learn, boys. All of you.

Now, back to Smokey. Someone – no, I still don’t know who – thought it would be a good idea to make Smokey an emblem, a Guardian of the Woods. They called her The Bear, and heaped on her all the good will and power of Guardianship. To be sure, I don’t know if those of the Long Past knew what they were doing, entirely. They didn’t seem to know much about the power of their own wills and what they might create if they focused their longing on just one thing for a while, but anyhow, Smokey became a Guardian. She wasn’t a Haint then – not by a long shot. She was a bear, flesh and blood, but the power was growing in her. The people back then put her pictures in all sorts of places and even invented a deep voice for her. They said she’d come if you were careless with fire in the Woods. And she would, or at least some of the stories we found in old crumbled books said she did. That’s not truth, boys, just tales, but keep them in mind because even tales can grow into truths if you treat them like truth. 

Anyhow, that went on a while until something bad happened. No one knows exactly because no one was there, but our figuring is pretty solid, which says she got into the rathole of a smuggler. You’ve all seen at least one and you know how there’s no knowing what you’ll find. You got to be careful with them, because they’re as likely to be full of danger as treasure. The one Smokey found contained a powerful and dangerous medicine the smuggler hoped to sell for a great profit. We don’t know what happened to the smuggler, no. He’s not part of the tale, boys, and let that instruct you. What you do can have a powerful effect on a story even if you’re not around to see it. 

Once Smokey got that medicine into her, it worked an evil on her mind and filled her with a ravenous hunger for more. She ate up all the medicine, the whole carrying sack full of it, and it drove her mad. She went on a terrible rampage that lasted longer than a full turn of the moon. It burned up her mind and, soon, her body as well. She collapsed, worn out by the power of the medicine that caused her to go so long and so hard without rest nor nourishment. That might have been the end of it, except Smokey died on a certain table rock in a certain clearing under the light of the October full moon, which we call the Hunter’s Moon. Places in the Long Past weren’t as full of the Power that you and I can sense easy as rain on the morning breeze, but some of them filled up with it anyhow. We don’t exactly know what the Power is – I know that’s your question Junie –  except that the wars and disasters that broke up the Long Past and almost cracked the earth in pieces made it come out a lot more often and more easily. Maybe it’s part of nature broken loose after the rocks moved and the rains fell. Maybe it’s all of Creation reaching out for us after it heard us crying in pain and regret. I’ll leave that to the tale-tellers. What’s important is that the Power is why we Wander – to harness the places it collects, to use it to heal and build and to keep it from the Spoilers. Now. Let’s go back to Smokey, yeah?

Under the Hunter’s Moon, on the great table rock in a clearing we have never found though many have looked for it, a thing happened we do not understand. Smokey’s shade rose up, hungry and eager. Though Smokey acts like a bear and hunts like a bear, don’t be fooled, boys. She is no bear. She will smell you out in places no bear can – rivers aren’t an obstacle, and neither are nooks in the rock. She doesn’t need claws to climb nor teeth to eat. She’s immense, and her roar can topple oaks. She isn’t mindless, though. A part of her still remembers the Guardianship placed upon her, even after more years than she can count. She’ll sniff out a lazy fire or a spark carelessly flung. Did you notice how carefully I’ve taught you to build a fire in camp? That’s because of Smokey the Haint. Do it wrong – put the Woods in danger – and you’ll hear her roar. 

And that’ll be the last thing you hear. 

Hmm? A question, Rosevault? Yes, she does chase down Spoilers, though she doesn’t sense them as surely as she does other things. We really don’t know why they catch her attention only sometimes. Maybe she is busy elsewhere? She’s not a god after all. Maybe the Spoilers aren’t entirely natural? I don’t know for sure. Do I know what she is? No. I confess I don’t. What’s that, Rosevault? Have I ever seen her? Oh, yes. Indeed I have. Once, and only once. That’s how I know for sure she hates Spoilers and will hunt them relentlessly once they are in her vision. But that – quiet now. Quiet, y’all! – that’s a story for later. It is late now and we rise before the sun. Get rest. I’ll take care of the fire tonight. Go on.

***

An hour later, all the boys were asleep and the fire was quenched and covered in three shovels of dirt. Yonder had spoken aloud when he dumped in the third. “Smokey,” he had said, not loudly enough to awaken the boys. “I have smothered the fire. The Woods are safe from us. Please whisper to the other Haints that we are here.” It was silly, he thought, the way he spoke aloud to things that surely would not understand  him. Still, it was not wise to assume what you did not know. And he did not know the Haints – not Smokey, not Wood Owl, not Moth Giant. No one did. As he pondered this, a low rumble caught his attention that seemed to vibrate the earth under his feet and lightly disturbed the dirt on the fire pit. He peered into the dark woods and nodded, for he knew what it was.

 It was the low, content growl of a bear asleep.

(Photo Credit: StockSnap on Pixabay)