“And then, one day, like any other, while I was reloading the magazine, a small bird happened out of the woods and landed on the corner of the wooden frame that held the target. It stood there for a moment to preen itself before moving on, which it would have done were it not for me, seeing it there as I swung the rifle back into position and sighted down the barrel first at the target and then, so easily, up a little and to the right.

I killed that bird and I was old enough to know why, although not in time to make a difference.”  

Planes Don’t Fly and Guns Don’t Kill | UNRAVELING THE KNOT