murmurations

My favorite view of Rome is outside of my teacher's apartment. Her window, which is about eight feet above mine, is taller than me. If you lean out just enough, and look to the right, you can see sprawling orange-y brown buildings. Some buildings have rooftop terraces, where people water plants or talk on the phone. In others, you can look through the window where old man watch TV. Across from her apartment, there is a large balcony, littered with toys or drying laundry. The sun sets, and golden light falls across the buildings. You can't see the streets, or the river, or the separations. Rome, simmered down to a single shot. During cooking classes, I attempt to pay attention while simultaneously leaning out the window and watching Rome stretch and breathe. I listen to instructions for a ragu sauce, to the correct amount of time pasta should cook, to the blade of the knife as it hits the cutting board. But I remain at the window, mesmerized.

It is crazy how quickly a new place becomes home. Three weeks ago, I didn't know my way around. I didn't know how to speak to the fruit vendor, and I couldn't imagine feeling comfortable in Italy. All of a sudden, in the past week, there has been a shift, a subtle change that has caused Rome to feel like home. I know to buy all my milk at the latteria across the piazza, and I know the milk costs a euro and fifty. The young workers at the butcher below the building know Mikaela and I by name. We know some of them. They greet us with ciao bellas, and air kisses. Roberto, the doorman, taught me the word for rain today. Sergio, an old man in the building, shoves coffee candies into our hands on the way out the door, telling us to call him nonno (grandfather.) Our Italian classes are over, and on the last day, our teacher Raffaella teared up as we left class. Grazie, Raffaella, we called as we ran out of the building, to the pizza shop around the corner, or to Forno, the bakery with the softest bread and almond pine nut cookies. Our apartment smells familiar, and I know exactly how to twist the key to get it open on the first try. Home.

In this new home, I continue to make new discoveries every day. Yesterday, as I was leaning out of my teacher's apartment window, I realized that the swarms of black birds I had been watching over the weeks had suddenly doubled or tripled in size, and the sky was black with their tiny dot-like forms. The birds flew out from the swarm, and back together again, dipping and soaring, coming together until a black swell like a lava lamp waved across the sky. Some would fly over the window, and I craned my neck as if watching an airplane.

My teacher, Ann, told us that they are roosting, coming down from the hills to seek refuge in the valley. She didn't know why they swarm, but she did tell us that Romans used to think that the birds were writing messages from the Gods across the sky. They even did bird divination.

Apparently, no one really knows how or why European Starlings perform the air acrobatics they do. The birds typically fly side by side, which for them is eye to eye. They take turns being on the outside and inside of the swarm, and they play follow the leader. It is possible that the birds swarm for protection against predators, or to save energy. The swarms are called murmurations. Check out BBC Earth for more information: http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_9175000/9175793.stm . There is a cool video that gives a poor view of what it looks like here. I encourage you to skip ahead to the second video, to the time 1:40.

I love the murmurations, and I love Rome. The end of this week marks the halfway point of this journey, and I am beginning to feel anxious about how little time I have left. There is still so much to do! This weekend, we are throwing a pumpkin party for Emily, a girl on the program who is turning 19, and whose favorite thing in the world is pumpkin. We might go to Pompeii. But, then again, maybe I shouldn't be too concerned about how much time I spend in Rome... after all, I did throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain. Love from Rome.