Michael Thorn
Bio
Just a guy.
Stories (2)
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Ghost of a Memory
The dinner bell rang and I rowed in. Great blue herons were constant visitors to the pond, but this was the first year two had nested. It’s warm in June. Hard to believe two weeks ago I hadn’t even thought of warm weather. It was spring then. I wore an old Army jacket the last time I was on the pond photographing the herons. Some thought it funny for a girl to wear an Army jacket, but then I never cared what they thought of me. I had left the Army jacket and my camera in the cabin this day; it was a day for enjoying the newborn chicks. I would photograph them another day.
By Michael Thorn5 years ago in Fiction
Ghost of a Memory
Ghost of a Memory The dinner bell rang and I rowed in. Great blue herons were constant visitors to the pond, but this was the first year two had nested. It’s warm in June. Hard to believe two weeks ago I hadn’t even thought of warm weather. It was spring then. I wore an old Army jacket the last time I was on the pond photographing the herons. Some thought it funny for a girl to wear an Army jacket, but then I never cared what they thought of me. I had left the Army jacket and my camera in the cabin this day; it was a day for enjoying the newborn chicks. I would photograph them another day.
By Michael Thorn5 years ago in Fiction
