Thorn Prison Letters #3
Source: The Case Against Gabriel Thorn, ABC documentary.
My little sparrow,
There’s a memory I come back to often. One of my favorites, and I think it was yours too.
It was your sixth birthday. Do you remember that afternoon?
The meadow? Just the two of us, sun filtering through the trees, like gold dust scattered everywhere.
You were so little, but so bright, curious about everything.
I think of that day as perfect, frozen in time.
We were listening to birds sing all around us. You kept asking me, what’s that one, Daddy? And that one? And that one?
You were relentless. Sharp as a hawk, my little birdwatcher.
We saw a Carolina wren hopping near the tall grass, singing as if only for us, and you tried so hard to mimic her song, that little whistle of yours echoing through the trees.
Do you remember the red cardinal that watched us?
You called him Mr. Red. Like he was an old friend.
And he kept his eyes on us as we walked, hopping from branch to branch, almost as if he was guiding us.
We stayed until the sun began to drop below the trees, and even though the birds had quieted down, you wouldn’t leave until you’d had just one more song. Just one more song, Daddy. I would give anything to step back into that moment, to watch you be so little, so joyful.
Hold on to that memory, my Gabby. It was a good day. Maybe one of our best. Just you, me, and the birds, the world nothing more than the song of the trees and our meadow.
Love,
Daddy