ExtractHeavily as stones they fall, fall to the tops of the firs where they suddenly sprout wings, become birds and then light feather rags that the storm seizes and whirls out of my line of vision, more rapidly than they were borne into it. Konrad Lorenz, King Solomon’s Ring It’s early in the morning. I’m in the car again. Even though the clocks have gone back an hour I’m still having trouble waking myself up. The two black coffees did nothing for me. The sun has barely risen behind the streaky November sky. When it happens, it’s sudden: WHAP! There’s a knock against the bumper. I look in the wing mirror and there is a big black bird lying in the road, shaking and writhing wildly, like a fly-tipped bin-liner catching a gust. ‘Jeez,’ I think, parking up the car. What I see as I get out and walk along...