The dry oak leaves rustled in the same wind that frosted their fingers. They listened to each other’s feet crunch, crunch, crunch in the crystallized snow. A quiet but powerful sound caught their attention; a low, echoing call, above our eyes and ears and fingers, resounded through Cherokee Marsh. Kids and adults alike closed their mouths and glued their feet to the snow to try and hear it again...
A patient group, they peered around at each other, wide-eyed with anticipation. Hushed gasps and little clouds of frosty breath emitted as all ears heard, “who cooks for you?”
Photo by Arlene Koziol


