I woke too early and shivered my way out of the trees into the sun on the road southeast of the Riverside property. Quiet. I thought the land would be buzzing with tractor motors and moos by now. Don’t farms rise with the sun? This road sleeps late and no dog barks and no ants have roused themselves to begin another ceaseless snuffle around for scraps to snack on or stack on. But there is a rooster. I crouch in the road, then lay flat with my back to the dirt and pretend there is risk of a motorcycle rolling in from the hills and flattening me entirely.