The Seabird’s Cry – Adam Nicolson

It is not stupid to think that birds might play, and here from the clifftop it has always looked as if that is what the fulmars were doing: the endless, repeated turns, first on one great circle and then another, skaters outlining discs on the ice, stiff-winged, patient, waiting for the long rotation to take its form, a series of geometries, as if the birds were cutting shapes through the paper of the air.

The air doesn’t always comply. Now and then a strange lack of certainty runs through a fulmar, even as it makes these Euclidean digrams beneath you, a whole-body hesitation, coughing in mid-flight, when it shudders and disassembles, all sleekness gone and all purpose paused, as if waiting for the data stream to resume, which it then does, and the long effortless gestures, milking energy from the wind, continue from one end of the ballroom to the other.

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The Double Shadow – Sally Gardner

“You’re going to think me crazy. I want to make a memory machine. I believe it’s possible. Everyone is capable of time travel for a minute or so by running up and down the scales of their memories. But what if you could capture those memories like a film? Then they could be played again in the four dimensions of space.”
“I see what you’re driving at. A place where time wouldn’t have the same hold over us.”

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