Walking in the early early morning is the only way to exercise in a humid Tennessee summer. The park near our bookshop joins some neglected farmland complete with chickens and tumbledown barns. What a delight it's been on the hottest mornings to huff and puff up the hill and hear the first morning crow of a rooster we've named Chanticleer. At first the sound is faint then louder and bolder; he calls up the sun. It's August now and crape myrtles the color of raspberry ice cream flank the park entrance. Young runners who flew past as we walked the trails in June and July are back on the asphalt track in front of the high school. And Chanticleer? He's been uncharacteristically quiet these last mornings. I'd like to think he's on a well-earned vacation, but we're afraid he's gone on a dumpling cruise in somebody's stewpot.
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