It’s hard to stay untouched by the sadness of November. Bare trees, rotting leaves, low skies and shortening days. The hills were white with snow and a thin wind harried me as I walked into town. A death in the family deepened the gloom. Although it was only three o’clock, night was gathering.

I was passing under an avenue of dripping lime trees when I heard the palaver. High up in the trees, a flock of starlings was gathering. Whistling, chirtling, chortling, cheeping, beaks open, heads thrown back they babbled in the dimming late afternoon.