
Wayward Sparks, Homebound
Young and old arrived in leaps and bounds, or in the slow shuffling of age-tired feet, up the three steps, through French doors that led to a well-lit atrium. In the early morning hours, when the winter sun doesn’t bother to care and just hits the snooze button, the light seemed to be emerging from within, as if the people entering were sparks coming back home to a bonfire lit long ago. It was warm inside too, despite the cold streets left behind.
















