It’s been a starling summer. I first noticed this ringed bird in the Spring. I have a number of clear photos of the rings and have dutifully attempted to report the sighting to various organisations – this has turned out to be so complicated I have given up for the time being. One of these days, when I have an entire
day, week to spare I shall try again.
As I understand it, the word ‘murmuration’ was coined due to the enormous flocks that darkened the skies over London some years ago. The sound of their wings as they came in to roost. They were once so common, the sheer weight of them, perched on the hands of Big Ben, literally stopped the famous clock in it’s track.
For reasons no one is entirely sure of, the numbers have declined by either 82% or 70% depending on which website you happen across.
Despite the fact our twenty odd juveniles are eating us out of house and home, under the circumstances we feel rather privileged to have them.
After introducing their offspring to our bird restaurant, the parents disappeared and haven’t been seen from that day to this. And who can blame them.
Endless squabbling and bickering. So much for ‘murmuration’. The racket they make could waken the dead.
So far not a single apple has survived to be sampled.
It wouldn’t be so bad if they grew up fast and headed back to London where they belong.