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Lost and Found

The pull of home is forever

By Charlotte StetsonPublished about a year ago 1 min read
Lost and Found
Photo by Matteo Maretto on Unsplash

My search ends in an impossibly old New England library, hewn stone, round turret. Wheelchair ramp inartfully added beside dangerously worn steps. It smells like a library: pages crackle when they turn; bindings lay flat; remnants of readers wander cramped stacks. Books, magazine racks and computer tables shoulder each other for space.

Zagging through ever narrower spaces to a dark corner, by the radiator snuggled up to flammable books, I find it. Green cover worn so the threads show, corners soft as a baby blanket. I open the book, glowing rays escape, engulfing me. Back home after all these centuries.


About the Creator

Charlotte Stetson

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    Charlotte StetsonWritten by Charlotte Stetson

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