This was Papa Quincyâs first Christmas without Queenie.
And he was sure the quail he saw on the other side of the road looked familiar. They both cocked their heads. Could it be?
He had been thinking about how he met Queenie long ago on the miraculous Christmas day it snowed. He was just a chick. A cold chick that had been lost for days. A twig snapped by a coyote flushed Queenie straight into his tail feathers as he pecked, beak down, for seeds in the snow. Within days the two crossed their crown feathers to form a heart, becoming one for life, through wildfires and wildflowers.