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Composer's Note:
A distant, fond memory: standing in front of the Rome Terminal Train Station, the sun setting slowly in the cooling, winter air. First, the racket starts. One, two, soon thousands of birds begin to chatter to one another. Then one takes flight. Then another, and another, until the sky is filled with a cloud of starlings, shifting in space. A dense cloud is stretched to near-transparency, then re-formed while kaleidoscopic shapes mesmerize. A rebellious faction breaks off, goes its own way counter to their peers, and then join the main mass again. Every now and then a group settles back in the trees, a brief repose before launching themselves again. Finally, as the sun sets, whole groups return to their nests, and settle for the night.
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