Star1ight

She made hot chocolate that morning - the kind that sticks to the mug and burns - and baked an apple cobbler, deep dish warm with butter and fruit, for the prodigal had returned. She turned out the sheets on his bed and hung his jeans out to dry - the bright flag of denim announcing his return to everyone on the street. Slowly the neighbors trickled in   to wonder and gape - offerings of spiced ham and ale, brown bread with raisins and freshly knitted socks and mufflers in soft merino shades - all bundled as if in tribute. They wanted to see if he could still sing Amazing Grace in his fine tenor voice and drink the men