Hello dear ones,
And welcome to tonight's story.
The lantern keeper of the long road.
Just taking a few moments now to arrive here in your space.
Gently allowing your mind and body to settle.
To become still.
This is your time for rest.
And we will begin.
On the road between two great cities.
Where the miles stretched long and the nights came early.
There was a woman who walked with a lantern that never went out.
Her name was Jolene.
And she had been walking that road for longer than most people could remember.
She was not alone.
Or,
If she wants,
She did not look it.
And she was not young.
Or if she was,
She did not act it.
She was simply Jolene.
With her grey coat and her brass lantern.
And her unhurried walk.
Moving steadily along the long road from one end to the other and back again.
The lantern was the thing.
It was not remarkable to look at.
Just a plain grass lantern with a round belly and a handle worn smooth by decades of use.
But the light inside it was not ordinary candlelight.
It was a clear,
Warm goal.
And it behaved differently from ordinary light.
Ordinary light shows you where you are.
Jolene's lantern showed you where you needed to go.
And this was not always the same thing.
Travellers on the long road often found themselves lost.
Not in the simple sense of taking a wrong turning.
But in a deeper sense.
They had usually left one place and were heading for another.
And somewhere in the middle miles,
They had lost the thread of wine.
A merchant who had forgotten what he was truly working towards.
A young woman travelling to a new city,
Who had lost her nerve somewhere around the 7th mile marker.
A soldier going home after a long absence.
Who did not know if home would recognize him anymore.
These were the ones Jolene watched for.
She could feel them before she saw them.
A particular quality in the stillness of someone sitting at the roadside.
Or the particular quality of someone walking very fast in the wrong direction.
She would slow her pace,
And the lantern would shift,
Barely But she felt it,
Tilting its light toward them like a flower turning toward the sun.
One cold autumn evening,
She found a boy on the milestone at the 13th mile.
He was perhaps twelve,
With a pack too large for his frame,
And boots that had given him blisters.
He was not crying.
That was what concerned her most.
He was simply sitting on the milestone,
Looking at the road ahead with empty eyes.
And when she came close enough to see his face clearly.
She saw that he had the luck of someone who has decided.
Quietly and without any unnecessary drama.
To simply stop.
She sat down on the grass beside the milestone.
Nasty blisters,
She said.
Because she had learned that it was better to begin with something real.
He looked at her sideways.
How do you know?
I've been walking this road a long time.
I know the look.
13th milestone is where they usually happen.
You walked too fast in the first 10 miles and didn't stop to sort your laces.
She paused.
Where are you headed?
The city itself.
Then after a moment,
I was.
Was.
It was quiet now.
The lantern hung between them,
And its light fell across his hands in his lap.
He saw that he was clutching a folded letter so tightly that the paper was damp at the corners.
My uncle lives in the city,
He said at last.
He said I could come and learn his train.
My mother put me on the road this morning.
But it's.
.
.
I looked how far it is on the map,
And I thought I could do it,
And now I've been walking all day,
And I'm only at 13,
And there are another 20 to go,
And I'm.
.
.
He stopped.
He looked at his booms.
Frightened,
Said Jolene.
Now.
Overwhelmed then.
He said nothing,
Which was its own answer.
She set the lantern on the grass between them.
Its warm gold light spilled out across the road ahead.
And in it the road looked different.
Softer somehow.
Less like a challenge and more like a path.
Do you see how the road looks in this light?
She asked.
He looked at it.
Sort of warm.
It always looks like this at the start of the part that matters,
" she said.
The first 13 miles are easy mile.
You walk them on excitement and fresh legs and the smell of home still in your coat.
The next 20.
Those are the real miles.
Those are the ones you'll remember.
Those are the miles that will change you into the person your uncle will be glad to meet.
The boy looked at her carefully,
The way children look at adults when they are deciding whether to trust them.
Have you walked them?
Everyone,
Many times.
And is it,
Is it worth it?
The city.
She thought about this honestly,
The way she always tried to.
That depends on you,
She said.
Not on the city.
This city will be the city whether you arrive hopeful or afraid.
What matters is what you carry into it.
And right now!
She reached into the pocket of her grey coat and drew out a small pot of salve and a clean length of cloth.
What you need is to carry better wrapped feet and some proper rest.
She dressed his blisters herself.
Firmly,
Without fuss.
Then she passed him a wedge of bread from her pack.
Plain.
Dense.
Good travelling brand.
He ate it without ceremony,
The way you eat when you are truly hungry.
When he had eaten and his feet were wrapped,
And his pack was adjusted on his shoulders more sensibly.
He stood on the road and looked ahead.
And he looked somehow larger than he had before.
Will you walk with me a while?
" he asked.
A little way,
She said.
And she picked up her lantern.
Its light fell ahead of them both,
Showing them every stone and dip in the road.
And also in its particular golden way.
Something more than that.
A glimpse of what was possible.
A warmth ahead that might have been lamplight in the city window.
Or might simply have been the light of a boy who had been frightened and had stood up anyway.
She walked with him until the road curved,
And then she slowed and let him go.
He did not look back.
That was always a good sign.
She turned and began her patient walk back the other way,
Lantern swinging gently.
Looking for the next one who needed light.
There is always one more.
There is always someone at the thirteenth milestone who needs a little bread,
A kind word.
And a light that shows them not just where they are,
But where they could go.
Rest now,
Traveller.
You are safe at home.
And the road will wait all morning.
