Mists Continued: First Chapter - The Beginnings

The morning was unwelcome, when we set out across the vale to escape our wee valley.

The palaver went on beyond the wee hours, the discussion warming & waning as the ale dwindled & weighty decisions were made. Finally, ere the first gleam of dawn smiled upon the ebon sky, they were asleep with murmuring dreams, the rumblings of burdens taken up, & dire things to come.

Sleep did little to steel resolve - there was too much truth for such a thing. Still, I strove to stand my ground in the far corner, behind the glow of the paling embers, eyes wide & refusing rest as I struggled to understand what we must do, & to find within me the strength of conviction to know that I was capable of it.

Dawn was unwelcome, for my spirit was not yet convinced.

Under a foreboding sky, I stood, my morning cup of too-strong tea cooling in my hand, unattended. I looked out across this valley that had been my cradle, my swaddling cloak of green forest tucked deep between the snowy peaks, the slow river an unbroken sash of deeper green girding the whole of what had been my home. Had been: I grunted mirthlessly. Have I already abandoned hope of return?

I heard the massive oaken door creak open behind me, accented by a sharp draw of breath at the chill of the early morn. Lairik, my brother, stamped to my side in a cloud of warmth & steaming breath, his bison fur cloak slung haphazardly across his broad shoulders. “Mishka,” he grumbled, “up so early, yet I see your tea has gone cold: is this how you waste the fire?” I said nothing, but sipped the bitter brew to satisfy him.

“The others will be about soon – I do not wish to set out so late that we are caught too far from the pass at nightfall.” He paused, looking at me with a scowl. “you were quiet last night, and silent you are today-have you nothing to contribute?”

Truly, I wanted no conversings save my communing with my beloved homeland, in sooth for goodbyes & futile promises. For farewells & remembrances, for writing upon my memories the events of my 24 summers here, in this blessed place. Still, Lairik was not one to be denied, as my sibling & as my chieftan. With a rousing sigh, I turned to his scowl & smiled, “Unlike the council, I reserve my words for import.” “If I speak with no weight or meaning, they flutter aloft like lifting dews, useless, gone & forgotten more quickly than a wench’s glance.” His scowl deepened to glower; “Poets! Pfah! Of no consequence, like your mutterings. Come, let us break our fast, and join the trail. The day is leaving our grasp already!” We turned as brothers, his massive arm thumping onto my shoulder, & we strode back into the house, the smells of roasting bison & loon eggs wafting out.

Writing an Ongoing Story from the Middle - Mists...

This is a scene I wrote, which I envisioned as the promo excerpt for a longer story. I plan to complete the story as it arrives within my spirit...

We strode thru morning misted fields without a destination, the sky reflecting nothing of the grassy moors beneath. 'Twas if the clouds were pressing down, entreating "Stay. Stay & rest, for the noontide will ye soon welcome". My heart well bade me linger, and stroll in leisure among the quiet. Yet on we strode, our boots running with the dews, our eyes intent upon the ground, for there was naught to see before them. There were no other sounds but the sighs of our steps wading thru the low grasses, & the dull tamp of our staffs upon the ground. And above these drifting vapored banks there rose… the oak.
Beneath its’ ancient limbs, the mists parted. It’s dappling shade was somehow clearer than the mists, which slid about it as if wafted by zephyrs we could not discern. A steady, light rain fell from the branches, and cold pools sat among the roots, which were topped with emerald mosses.
We are here, I thought. After all this, we are here.

First chapter: The Beginnings

Free Stickers? What Could Be Cooler?

The handmade community at Etsy.com is diverse to the extreme. So many different styles & types of items, so many sellers crafting fun & funky & fantastic pieces of art or jewelry or pottery or paintings - you get the idea! So it was with a grin-enducing "Yeah, that doesn't surprise ME!" that I came across a deal from an Etsy seller named "Moopf" (which I thought was the sound I make when I carry too many grocery bags thru the lodge door at once).

The MoopfSter is offering Free Stickers, which he prints in myriad colors & designs. He even includes shipping (but not duties or customs, which should be negligible: hey, htey're STICKERS, right?). So go get your Moopf on at http://www.moopf.com/etsy/freestickers/, & get Moopfsterized today!

After your sticker procurement is complete, check out the rest of the Etsy universe, including my little shop, WolfLodge.etsy.com. I KNOW you will be an Estsyan for life!

Why I weep for America - The Battle Joined

Many years ago now, I reconnected with a buddy that I had not seen for several years, & he was transformed from a hard-drinking, violent man into a shining, happy person. Since then, he went on to become a minister. He told me that he resisted the calling for a few years, then gave in. When I asked him what had precipitated the change, he said that God had told him that the US would be the site of the final battle with the Dark One, & he felt an overwhelming need to help the youth of America prepare for spiritual battle.

Within 6 months, I had also reconnected with my bio-brother after a few years ignoring each other. He was transformed into a shining, happy person. When I asked him what had precipitated the change, he said that God had told him that the US would be the site of the final battle with the Dark One, & he felt an overwhelming need to help the youth of America prepare for spiritual battle.

These 2 guys never met, in fact they lived 800+ miles apart, but their stories & their reasons for change were identical. That battle is ramping up in this America. though I have faith regarding the outcome, I weep for the road we shall travel, and for those who are lost, and those who shall be lost.

Why do I weep for America II - the Dream Train

I weep for lost possibilities. I weep because I have seen the mighty train of the path of this Great American Dream overloaded, its' once-unstoppable firebox now caked with the soot & cinder of untamed consumption & greed & entitlement; its' boiler thinned & warped by the overheated fires of disregard for tomorrow's consequences; its' brakes ground past their purpose as no one will stop to say, "This is enough! This is not right! This must not continue!"

It's once-proud whistle is now a mournful wail; and the rails upon which it rolls are weakened, & crooked, & rusted with corruption & lack of care - too many switches, too many turns, too-few straight stretches of track. This Great American Dream Train once excelled at pulling all loads up the steepest grades of the needs of the world: "I Know we can, I KNOW we can, I KNOW WE CAN!" Now, we have crested the final hill of potentiality, & are hurtling down the mountain into the valleys of despair.

Hank Williams Sr. wrote a song for my StepDad, & it echoes in my ears: "The midnight train, is whinin' low: I'm so lonesome I could cry..."

Why do I weep for America?

My friends, I am nearly overcome. I feel today as if my beloved USA is slipping away, & my hands are not strong enough to hold on to it. To quote the Rock Biter from Never Ending Story, "They look like good, strong hands, don't they?" That's what I always thought they were - good, strong, artistic hands. Sadly, I have been proven wrong, so many times. Like the Biter, I cannot hold onto Nothing.

My vision of the US (heretofore arbitrarily referred to as 'America') was of a wondrous place where the only bounds were those of possibility; where the fact of my "Difference" was to be celebrated within the bounds of inclusion. An America where all that was needed was the will, the energy, the verve & determination, because nothing else would be put in your way.

My grandfathers slaved in coal mines & paid the price with their broken bodies & destroyed lungs. Thru it all, they loved this America & supported it proudly. Two sons served under our flag - one was never the same after Korea. Still, Grandpap knew the price of freedom.

When my sister died in Egypt, her husband, a Saudi pilot, was devastated. We lost track of him until Desert Storm, when he was interviewed by CNN on the tarmac: his quote, with tears running down his cheeks, "Gentlemen, all I can tell you is God Bless the United States of America!" Abdullah knew the price of freedom.

My late Cajun buddy Jack served in Vietnam, & suffered from the effects of Agent Orange exposure. Jack knew the price of freedom.

I do not advocate blind allegiance - Grandpap made that clear when we discussed the possibility that I would be drafted. You can be loyal to your country without sacrificing your right to disagree or dissent where appropriate.

My darlin' wife can look at me & say, "Your hands hurt, don't they." I cry the tears of the Rock Biter, staring at them, knowing I am not strong enough.