Shapeshifters
With their autumnal aerial displays, starlings are the sardines of the autumn sky.
I don’t usually write about birds, they are not something I know terribly much about. And they are either too far away, or too fast!
Starlings are different. They divide opinion. Noisy and gregarious, probing the grassy verges and lawns with their beaks, the flock swooping and chattering between aerials, fences and rooftops.
I first heard of murmurations from a friend who had seen one above Brighton Pier. The name is unusual, the sound their wings make as they fly past? More of a whooshing than a murmur I discovered.
A murmuration is the collective noun for starlings and describes their aerial displays before these groups roost for the night.
Shapeshifters
The sight of their displays is very special. Like sardines that are also iridescent, acting as one shapeshifting unit, but some are changing direction, merging with other groups, or deciding that it’s time to enter the reeds to roost for the night.
These large gatherings occur in autumn and gather pace as more birds migrate from central Europe to the milder winter climate here, peaking in December and January.
A murmuration in the making
They gathered on nearby rooftops, chattering and hopping about before taking off and slowly making their way back and forth, back and forth in the direction of the roosting site. That was when I spotted them, some distance away, but I recognised a murmuration in the making. Leo and I legged it!
The spectacle at sunset
Untidy and at height, three sizeable groups slowing grew in size as they absorbed stragglers and smaller numbers, circling above my head, each bird flying quickly, like synchronised swimmers. The closer they got to the roosting site, the tighter the circles and those tell-tale murmurations emerge: long, tapered, chunky, a cloud, flat, a ball. Their wings shimmering as they change direction, appearing to contract and expand, undulating as they fly overhead. I can hear them chattering. One group follows the other, chasing it, darting behind, their wings rushing as they fly overhead. Merging for an instant then two groups separate.
Alive! In no hurry to roost, it’s as if they are enjoying themselves as they gather and circle many times to then suddenly, drop into the reeds. As if sucked out of the sky.
Grab that cuppa!
This still gives me the shivers. Apologies though for some wobbly filming, I was trying to not to trip over my own feet!
For some time afterwards, the reeds are alive with unseen birds, they’re jostling and settling in causing waves across the reeds and loud chatter. Two smaller groups join, one after the other and the sun slipped over the hill.
I noticed it was getting cold and I left them still chattering and jostling, thinking about what the sunrise rise would look like.
All images are copyright of Mary Tebje and can only be used with permission.