I’d only ever seen those swirling clouds of starlings way off in the distance, but the last few days at Pistyll Gwyn they’ve been coming over the hill, flying right over the field and the cottage, and sweeping down into the valley.
Big clouds, small clouds. Hundreds – possibly thousands – of birds.
When it happens everything stops. The alpacas look up, we look up, Gwen looks up, (and probably Herbert too). The sound of all the wings is breathtaking.
Hopefully this will happen every year …