“A distant murmuration of starlings–and yes, that really is the marvelous term for a group of these often-maligned birds–10,000 or more, rolls “like a drunken fingerprint across the sky,” as the poet Richard Wilbur wrote, smudging the dusk horizon with the quickness of a pulsating jellyfish.” (Peter Friederici)
There is silence around me in the peaceful winter night.
From the church down in the valley I can see the candlelight.
And I stopped for a moment in this winter paradise,
When I heard a choir singing through the darkness and the ice.
And the rays from the lights behind the window's vaulted frames,
Have united the souls in hope that something great is waiting.