The autumn rain clouds continued their hurried migration across the big open sky. Yellow rays of sunlight peeked through dark blue and white jumbles. Beyond the edge of the runway—a tiny oasis of civilization—was the vast wild.
A strong wind blew across the veld, warming my face and whipping my long auburn hair, my most defining physical quality I’d always been told, a splash of color in an otherwise wan existence. Why have I never lived up to the exciting impression my vibrantredmaneleavesonothers, I prodded myself once again. Just then, as if on cue, a rush of starling fluttered overhead, hundreds moving together in shape-shifting murmurations, making a loud pfffftttttttt sound of wings flapping in unison. The other tourists all jerked their heads upward to watch the swarm’s progression
