A Murmuration of Starlings

In 1890 a quirky fellow named Eugene Schieffelin, the President of the American Acclimazation Society, a madcap organization bent on introducing new species of critters into areas where they shouldn't be, released 60 common starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) into New York City's Central Park. Although there is no substantiated verification of his motives for this release, the charming legend passed along is that Schieffelin was intent on introducing to the U.S. every bird species that was mentioned in the works of William Shakespeare.

The Starling entered the Bard's world in his play, Henry IV, Part 1 where Hotspur, intent on driving King Henry nuts, thinks employing a starling to speak nothing but "Mortimer", a fellow who Henry refused to spring from prison, might do the trick. "Nay, I'll have a Starling shall be taught to speak nothing but 'Mortimer,'" Hotspur conjures. And that's it, the short entrance and exit of the starling in the works of Shakespeare. But, that whisper of a mention was enough for Schieffelin. Off the pesky little buggers went from England into America's wild blue yonder and they've never turned back. In fact, I'm certain that Shieffelin would be surprised at how these native European birds thrived in England's former colony, having grown to a population today of nearly 150 million in North America.

Now, Starlings aren't all that remarkable in size, demeanor or sound:  eight inches long, glossy metallic black with occasional white speckles, a gift for mimicry and collective noise but not much of a crooner. They are rather gregarious birds and love to roost collectively in large groups, which is cause for concern if you happen to be near a roosting zone. But, there is something rather remarkable and magical about these non-native interlopers; when danger calls they fly in a formation of sorts known as a murmuration, which defies imagination. To watch them in flight as a collective pulse, upwards of thousands of members in balletic and undulating clouds is breathtaking.While their murmurations seem to defy ornithologists full understanding, the best guess is that each individual bird responds to the seven closest neighbors in formation and adjusts flight accordingly. There is no leader of the pack or "head starling". This unique way of communication, referred to as "scale-free correlation" allows each individual starling to communicate to those around it, adjusting to changes in their behavioral state, such as a predatory threat. One bird affects and is affected by that of all the other members of the group, no matter the size. The result is a shape shifting cloud of exquisite dimensions. Truly a wonder of the natural world.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRNqhi2ka9k

Stopping On The Way To The Slaughterhouse

Hershey Kiss was on his way,
Devout in stance
Trusting eyes comforted by the others
Sure that he was headed somewhere
But not there, surely not there.
After all, he had a flair,
Although the others weren't aware
They were mighty,
Powerful yet powerless
To where they were heading,
Loin to loin, barely able to move
Aching legs spent, ready for a rest,
Now pleasing no one.
Hershey Kiss never knew that life of the others
He was of them but different.
They left him alone.
The truck stopped, a ruckus on the road
An arm waving furiously from a car window.
They were all slightly interested.
A woman, a voice he liked. Soothing.
He was nervous, after all.
All of them were. Muscles taut
Shining to a glisten under a cicada sun.
He was too short to see them talking. But, he heard them.
The tailgate opened, a great creaking that frightened him.
The others didn't seem to mind. They were eating.
The man pulled the rope around his neck
Hershey Kiss flinched, a searing twist toward the tailgate
His steps down the ramp tentative,
Frightened to leave, unkindness kept him moving,
Away from the others, toward her.
For she was there, the gentle voice.
She took off the rope and he followed her.