Starlings at the Window, or Foolishness Across America, Day Three

   A strange dream last night, one of home and missing motorcycle bolts. I sat with pieces of the dismembered front fork in my hands. Lucky for me, I woke up before I had to put it all back together.

   I woke at River's place, a bit stunned from the whiskey. A pair of starlings came to the window sill as she was preparing for work. Starlings are, of course, like a bullying plague in the bird world, despised for their obnoxiousness and their penchant for usurping nests of "nicer" birds. Not so for River, who had never known a thing about them (let alone their latin name).
   "They're so pretty," she whispered, "iridescent and spotty and everything."

   I had to give it to her. The bird suddenly looked marvelous in the morning sunlight. No longer some terrible scourge, or cackling roadside mass, just a pair of beautiful blackbirds waiting for the warmth of the Carolina sun. Like the motorbiking, it seems that even the ordinary things look different from a new perch.


  1. That makes three who think that with she, Shakespeare and whoever it was who brought them to Central Park.

  2. "Nay I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak nothing but Mortimer, and give it to him to keep his anger still in motion"

    And even Shakespeare didn't care enough to put them in more than one line of one play. But that was enough for those crazy folks to release 60 some Starlings in New York in 1890.