When Starlings Fly

“You have to go outside for a walk,” my husband said after returning from his morning dog walk. “You have to see how beautiful it is out there.”So I did. And it was. The clouds were hanging down in the valley and I was up above them in the sunshine. Everything was crisp and bright and that eery mist down below just looked beautiful.But I had things on my mind and so I did what I do best. I ruminated.I walked and I chewed over my thoughts (and over and over and over them). I thought about what I could do. I imagined conversations. I tested assumptions. I tried on different approaches. I walked a mile and a half doing this and then I turned round, headed back and walked another three quarters of a mile doing it.And then suddenly, like waking up from a dream, I realized what was happening.“Hey,” I said to myself, “take a moment to appreciate where you are and what is all around you.”And so I stopped.And that’s when I noticed the starlings – 30 or 40 of them sitting in a row on the dry stone wall to my right. And at almost the same moment that I noticed them, they all lifted off, swooping up like tiny little aeroplanes in an arc inches over my head. I could hear the hum and whir of their wings. I could feel the air change as they swept up over me. And then I watched as they danced into perfect formation and swooped and swerved over the field ahead. It was one of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had, even though it lasted only a few seconds.This is what happens when you pay attention. You suddenly notice the magic that is unfolding all around you.I think it’s like this with art. We can be so focused on the problems we are facing with a painting, so stressed about whether we can capture a likeness or if our abstract painting can communicate the right feeling, that we miss the magic of the present moment. Our brush dipped in paint, making a mark, creating something that didn’t exist before.It’s magical and we are so fortunate that we get to do this.