The Most Beautiful Thing

I heard and saw today: a single male bird, roofed, full-throated, on the lookout for others of his kind. For five minutes, he chattered and called, puffed his chest feathers and clacked his bill, turned and pivoted, singing, singing, singing.

Before today, I've only ever really listened to raucous legions of European Starlings. How could I have known their stylish mimicry? The sophistication of their music? The lusty comedy of their prideful feather ruffling?

When five others flew in and all took off for the telephone wire and then a distant tree, I felt bereft. Even the family of House Sparrows zooming in and out of their little house at the garage brought me no pleasure.

That Starling was the most beautiful thing I heard and saw today, and for him and his songs I am grateful.