Jon and I were granted several minutes of pure grace last week. The last sky light was fading on a country road when he spotted a "murmuration" of starlings. There were hundreds of them, perhaps over a thousand, and the dancing flight must have just begun, for as it wheeled and shape-changed we saw small groups still winging their way into it like teens late to a great party . Jon pulled into a sideroad and I turned on my camera; re-playing it, we realized that the starlings' "murmurs" are inaudible. All we can hear are our own gasps of pleasure as we watched it through the windshield for several minutes. Brilliantly set to Pachelbel's Canon (which is Jon's and my song, by the way), this lovely YouTube lasts for almost four minutes and sets me to swaying on my chair.
These joyous congragations occur certainly after the nesting season is over and probably only when food is plentiful in the autumn. In fact, I suspect that they are practise flights for the young, who will soon migrate. I have read that physicists find the shape-morphing of mathematical interest, as they are much too complex to be attributed to a single leader. But surely, beyond their biological and mathematical marvels as the murmurations swing from teardrop to boomerang to comma, every individual starling must be drunk on the sheer glory of group dance.
What became even more touching was the way our private performance ended. Bit by bit, the party-goers went home to bed, simply dropping unceremoniously into treetops in what I assumed were loosely-related kinship groups. I would love to know who had held out the longest, unwilling to say goodnight and forsake the wild abandon of the sky. Maybe it was just the teenagers. Within two minutes, all had tucked themselves in and the sun was free to set. We sat in silence for several moments of gratitude.
I admit to having no photos of flocks. The best I can offer you - you who have been steeped in regular colour - is this watercolour of our dear orange-wing parrot. Having decided to paint him in a variety of poses along a branch, I realized that such a scene was impossible for pair-bonders unless the kids had not yet left for university. So instead I just called it "Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie."
These joyous congragations occur certainly after the nesting season is over and probably only when food is plentiful in the autumn. In fact, I suspect that they are practise flights for the young, who will soon migrate. I have read that physicists find the shape-morphing of mathematical interest, as they are much too complex to be attributed to a single leader. But surely, beyond their biological and mathematical marvels as the murmurations swing from teardrop to boomerang to comma, every individual starling must be drunk on the sheer glory of group dance.
What became even more touching was the way our private performance ended. Bit by bit, the party-goers went home to bed, simply dropping unceremoniously into treetops in what I assumed were loosely-related kinship groups. I would love to know who had held out the longest, unwilling to say goodnight and forsake the wild abandon of the sky. Maybe it was just the teenagers. Within two minutes, all had tucked themselves in and the sun was free to set. We sat in silence for several moments of gratitude.
I admit to having no photos of flocks. The best I can offer you - you who have been steeped in regular colour - is this watercolour of our dear orange-wing parrot. Having decided to paint him in a variety of poses along a branch, I realized that such a scene was impossible for pair-bonders unless the kids had not yet left for university. So instead I just called it "Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie."
"Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie, Gussie." wc 11x22
RSS Feed
