The loamy smell of fresh-turned earth fills the night air of Edison. A dog barks twice. Stars circle a country moon, nearly full and bright as a halogen light. The moon's white light flickers as an enormous flock of trumpeter swans crosses its path.
Wings ruffle the chill air.
Their cacophonous squawks are like a chorus of air horns over the fertile tidal flats. Quiet, locals tell you, is why they came here. Quiet is why they stay. It's quiet and friendly here. Plant a Norwegian.