Most of us have watched birds overhead and longed to experience flight. Of course there are airplanes, but if you really watch a bird drifting on an updraft or heading in for the kill you know that a seat on an overcrowded jumbo jet is a poor substitute. To get a sense of flight I’ve been following a murmuration of starlings which gathers near Rough Tor every night at this time of year. The birds roost in a plantation of pines at the foot of the mountain. Mornings they burst out like a shot from a cannon, but in the evening they return in small flocks flying back and fort, gathering members until the proper number are present. They they roost.
Some nights evoke spectacular geometric formations. This is usually in response to the presence of predators such as common buzzards or peregrine falcons. On these occasions the birds make formations to confound their enemies and force them to look elsewhere for supper. Once it is deemed safe to do so, they descend into the trees to settle in, gossip and rest. Ornothologists believe they exchange information about food sources and possible dangers, but we will never know for sure. I suspect they may be discussing the poor earthbound creatures who line up each night to watch them land. Unhappy, featherless creatures.