Heralds of dawn, late callers at dusk; commuting geese bookended the shortest days of the year with their plangent cries. Sometimes I spied them from out of nowhere, going somewhere backdropped by clouds, half a dozen or more birds sculling along in short, ragged Vs. Often, a cluster passed unseen overhead, skimming the rooftop at times when house lights illuminated our indoors but blinded us to what was outside. Through an open window I heard a crackle in one goose’s bugling voice, as if its bowstrings had shredded.
Other loud groups of travellers turned up in the middle of the afternoon, in great gatherings that accreted by word of mouth, each al fresco tweet attracting more followers. I stepped outside to be greeted by an upwelling of clicks, whistles and whirring syllables from the hitherto bare branches of a sycamore rendered black against a blue sky. A core of 50-plus starlings was in full frenzied cry, out-shouting one another in a euphoric crescendo that seemed to shift between chorus and cacophony.
Out of this tumultuous thicket of sound rose peculiar whoops and peals as if there were individuals who wanted to stand out from the crowd. The infectious, excited babble was drawing in other birds, ones and twos shooting in from the north and east, usually dropping into vacant places in the topmost twigs and sliding down – pinball fashion – perch by perch into the main body of the choir. Some starlings sat still, others made desultory dabs at the branch in front of their face.
After what could have been no more than a couple of minutes, the highest whistling began to intensify before seven or eight starlings broke from the tree, spilling south-west. At the exact moment when the birds flew, the tree fell into a hush. The chattering resumed, again reaching a fevered pitch until another branch-load broke, again towards the south-west, again accompanied by a respectful second of silence. On the third crescendo, I imagined the birds sitting like parachutists in a plane – “Who’s going next? Are you going? I’m going. Ready? Go!”
The birds had flown, the dwindling mob paused for breath. Now, who’s next?
