Gorgeous Spring weather, a week before the Equinox, has my windows open and the screens not yet in place. I come home from an early outing to find a starling frantically keeping out of paw’s reach as my cat, Lucy, in full hunting mode, is tracking her. The starling, whose home, typically, is in one of the big oaks on my street rather than in the confines of my little fifth floor apartment, seems to have established a route through the house; various perches from the top of my bookcases in the living room to the top of the big framed mirror in the entryway, to the top of the kitchen cabinets, then back the other way as Lucy stalks her. All very exciting (for Lucy), and frantic (for the trapped starling). I am happy for Lucy. Not much adventure in her life these days, but I am distressed for the starling who I have no idea if I’ll be able to coax out of the house. And then there’s the inevitable deposits of birdshit I’m likely to be finding.

My first task, much to her consternation, is to get Lucy into the bedroom and close the door. Then, I make an effort to send a wave of calmness to the bird. I assume an attitude of complete indifference, keeping my focus away from her as I begin to plan an exit strategy. I am already grateful for whatever powerful message Starling medicine holds for me. When the bird is free, I’ll be looking at my books and online for information about Starling medicine! But first things first. Free the bird! My kitchen window is the biggest window in the house. It opens onto a fire escape so getting to it involves unlocking the gate I have installed — a sad reality of city living. Gate open, I pull up the bottom half of the window as wide as it will go, which seems plenty wide. The bird flies directly into the top half. Somehow, she regains her perch on top of the kitchen cabinet and, sitting with its beak wide open (is this starling for “I just bashed into a not terribly clean window pane. I’m embarrassed, pissed off, and my head hurts….”?), seems to be waiting for my next move. Continuing my attitude of disinterest, I close the bottom half and open the top, kicking myself for not thinking like a bird. What must it be like to actually fly!! Up! think “Up!”. I step away, all the way to the door of the kitchen which is the farthest point away from the window. I hold up the sweater I’ve been wearing to discourage the bird from heading this way. I have the pleasure of seeing her take her leave. I cheer and clap and feel jubilant. This has all taken, perhaps, five minutes, from my walking in the door to the the bird gaining its Freedom.

I let Lucy out of the bedroom and watch her as she searches the house for the intruder. Ultimately, homebound creature that she is, she’s distracted from the prowl by her food dish where she makes short work of what remains of her breakfast. The house settles down. I close some windows, put screens in others and go to my computer to start work. But first Starling Medicine. What wisdom, what story, what instruction, does this encounter hold for me?

Starling – birds that fly in great flowing swarms, creating living waves in the sky. Surely, they are masters of community. What caused this individual to pierce the veil between our worlds? I will be thinking and dreaming on this encounter for a good long while. Right now, I find myself focussed on what Starling offered me: an opportunity to take action without thinking, to move quickly, efficiently; to be fearless and precise in the care of three different species; to have my attention brought to bird-mind (Up, silly! Up!); to be an agent in a story with a happy ending involving freedom.

I know there’s more here to know from this encounter. I’ll be watching for how Starling shows up in the coming days. Stay tuned.