From Eudora Welty’s “Where is the Voice Coming From?” (1963):

Something darker than him, like the wings of a bird, spread on his back and pulled him down. He climbed once, like a man under bad claws, and like just blood could weigh a ton he walked with it on his back to a better light. Didn’t get no further than his door. And fell to stay.
He was down. He was down, and a ton load of bricks on his back wouldn’t have laid any heavier. There on his paved driveway, yes sir.