I made my way to the front.

The invitation was subtle.

The cold gray stones
shifted
cracked
and
chipped
under the pressure of my heels.

Dark
Worn
Splintered
Rails

Drew my hands, ever so familiar.

I pressed up the aged steps
to a door of old wood & character.
Its constitution still intact and uncompromised.

An iron handle, worn smooth from visitors past,
waited for my embrace
and the latch, warm to the touch,
gave way under my eager thumb.