In December, Nigel and I travelled to Brighton to see the murmurations – the patterns formed in the sky by flocks of starlings as they ready themselves to roost on the pier. The sunset was spectacular and the flock swirled, twisted and glinted in tight formation.
Then, all of a sudden, as if at some invisible signal, the starlings poured into the space beneath the pier and stayed there. I had not expected this and it made an impression on me.
This Friday, I was reminded of that moment when all my “starlings” converged on their home perch. My own evening was supposed to be dinner with some women friends, but before it began, Carenza and I had already been to the station to pick up Will.
During my dinner, Perran arrived at the station from Bristol Uni, and I texted him to get a taxi home.
After dinner, I drove again to the station to pick up Nigel (a business dinner in London),
then twenty minutes later, back to the station to collect Pascoe, home from Edinburgh Uni.
But by the time the last family members had returned safely to their perch, the youngest had gone out again for drinks with other friends, also freshly returned home.
Not quite like starlings then.
|Pascoe making his way across St Pancras.|