January 01, 2020 - 12:30 PM
Three women take slow, tentative steps through the snow. It’s a perfectly still December morning, just after daybreak. With a single gesture from the leader — a firm hand outstretched behind her — the procession comes to a halt. Joyce Henderson, the leader, cocks her head to the side, listening. Briefly, she shuts her eyes in concentration. A jubilant trill rings out from the tangle of brush.