Murmuration

Murmuration. It might be…

-a whispered secret in a friend’s ear,

-a brook spilling over river rocks,

-the sound of night breezes, insects calling in the grass,

-my heart beat, your breath, a baby’s soft gurgle.

But it’s none of those. Murmuration is a flock of starlings.

A flock of starlings?  How can a bunch of pesky, squawking feeder-marauders create such a beautiful thing?

And yet, and yet. On a late autumn afternoon, as the light begins to fade in the western sky, there they are. A dance in the sky, choreographed perfectly, each bird knowing its place, moving in concert with all its partners. A murmuration is an ocean wave in the air, then a flower or a fish. A murmuration redeems the unwanted bird and I learn, not for the first time, about nature’s unending surprises.

A bit of history, or perhaps it’s legend: In 1890, Eugene Scheiffelin, a member of the American Acclimation Society, a group intent on the exchange of plants and animals from another part of the world to the United States, imported about 40 European starlings to Central Park in New York City. Scheiffelin’s reasoning was borderline fanatic. He loved Shakespeare and so he decided to transplant all the birds from the bard’s plays to America. Even though “starling” was mentioned only once in the entire Shakespeare canon, in Henry IV.

No doubt he believed it was a good plan.  Yet his is a perfect example of unintended consequences. Scheiffelin didn’t live long enough to see the results of his literary scheme, but his plan succeeded all too well. North America is now home to over 200 million starlings!

I have never had any love for these birds; they dominate my feeder, driving off songbirds;  they swarm off my roof into the fields like a plague of overgrown black locusts. They are not pretty birds. Nonetheless…

Look what they can do when flocked together.

They create beauty in the sky. They draw our eyes upward, enchanted by their seemingly effortless, sinuous ballet.  I’m left with wonder and amazement, even joy. The starlings remind me that “there are more things in heaven and earth that are dreamt of in (our) philosophy.”(W. Shakespeare, Hamlet)*

Even on a late November day, when all is gray and bleak; even when the garden is no longer in bloom and damp air chills the bone, you might spot a brave bright dandelion still huddling in the grass. Or hear the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker; discover delicate tracery on an icy puddle.

And if all else fails, on a clear moonless night, take yourself out beyond bright lights, look up and be amazed.

*For more delight and enchantment, go to this youtube link, sent by a friend        https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQ5DA_Z1X5s