The Noah Complex
MY eye is caught by a large flying object and, for a moment, I fear that a glider plane has flown off course and is about to crash into the castle. Then, my brain registers the stork as it deftly weaves its way around John Nash’s crenellations to land on the nest and relieve its mate of looking after the chicks on a faggot of sticks that would have tested the strength of Good King Wenceslas’s yonder peasant. Other, the European white stork, blocking a flue at Knepp Castle, their home on the Sussex Weald.
