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Weekly Contest #63
Trees, homes, blue, white. Everything I see passes by me as I fly with my flock. The colors that once meant something have started to mix into one. Black. The color that I am. The common starling that glides through the sky. Some call us phenomenal for the way we group during migration, while others call us beautiful because we shine in the morning sun. Then there’s those who call us noisy and those are the ones who destroy our home that was never meant to be. Whether you see me sitting inside a cactus or soaring by screeching the sounds tha...
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