startling starling

i came around the corner today and there was a starling landing on the framed stained glass hanging in my window. the bird's wings were flapping and he seemed as startled as i. i cried out, "hey! you not supposed to be in here!" and so he left.

i'm managing to clean a little bit. coming to terms with my pack-rat tendencies. had a conversation with billy about collecting stuff. that for the pack rat each item is potentially useful or important. each object loaded with meaning - past or future - and therefore impossible to discard. a pack rat is essential to human civilization; their hoarding preserves the past. but there is a difference between a pack rat and a historian: perspective. where the pack rat will tend to keep *everything* the historian has a greater understanding of context and the narrative of events and is therefore better able to choose what to keep.

looking around my apartment i fear i am a pack rat - marrooned with perspective on a two-dimensional plane of to do and done. and with very little interest in explaining myself.

they say when a sparrow flies into your house someone in the household is about to die. what does it mean when a starlling - not even a bird native to BC, much like myself - *almost* flies into your house? a warning, perhaps, or a promise of songs to come, or better yet, an invitation to come outside to play.