Murmurations of starlings! Thats what they were! When I lived in the Clarendon Hills Cemetery from 1976 until 1981, every evening (3 seasons) thousands of starlings would gather in the trees (previous farm orchard) behind my little house. Wed climb the ladder to the roof and wait for the show to begin. During the green seasons, birds could be seen at first, a few at a time, then groups of 50 and then flocks of thousands as theyd arrive to grab a branch to rest a bit on the old, gnarled trees. As the numbers grew, so did the sound. Chatting, chirping, eager-to-see you sounds like theater audiences before the lights dim and the movie begins. Early Spring and late Fall, when the trees were bare, tens of thousands of them would dot the branches until the trees looked as if theyd magically filled up with lush leaves during the last 15 minutes. Noisy little leaves they were until just before sunset. And then it was as if the volume dial was turning to the right ever so steadily, slowly until the sounds reached a crescendo of screeching joy. As the luscious Illinois sunset burst over the horizon like fire spilling over the Earth, the starlings would rise in unison, moving above the trees as if they were one solid cloud, blackening the skies around and above us for four-five minutes. A big, flowing silk scarf with the scarlet matting of sunset behind them. Swirls. Dips. Shapes from an Etch-a-Sketch gone wild. Sort of a taffy-pull motion but smooth as viscous liquid. Their dance matched the timing of the Illinois sunset precisely; the volume of chatter started waning exactly when the brilliance of the colors began to fade into night fall. Then, the birds flowed in determined togetherness to the tree farm across the highway, three to four minutes of sky blanket before nestling in to the welcoming fir trees for the night. Murmurations. Thats what thats what thats called.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 22:44:52 +0000
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