murmuration ovenbird On the highway, approaching the ferry terminal, my car is engulfed. A cloud of a thousand starlings turns the sky to ash. My daughter gasps. “Murmuration,” I say, giving her a word that hums with the sound of synchronized flight, a word that makes one from many, a word that breaks apart, lands on the telephone wires, and watches us with trickster eyes. 250821 what's it to you? who go blather from