I left for work this morning at my “normal” time, at least normal according to when the dawn arrives. I didn’t reset my clocks because I wanted to get in earlier at work than usual, based on post-clock-changing clock-time. There is always something magical about early mornings, at least once I’m out on the bike. Prior to that is the usual hell of waking up and wanting to stay wrapped up and warm. Once I’m on the bike, though, the magic infects me.

The hushed sense of waiting, of time suspended. The fewer cars. The softening of detail. Being on the road extra early this morning meant there were even less cars than normal. The light cycles were shorter than normal. If this wasn’t such a damn early-rising town, if I didn’t have to get up at 3:30am to get that kind of ride, it would be my norm. It is seductive, these early morning hours.

I have just a quarter mile of MUP (mixed use path) riding on my commute. It is the among worst, in terms of conditions, and I can’t say it is either the ugliest or the most beautiful, but I think it is the most interesting. It follows a trickling stream, which is spanned by enormous arcing bridges. It is surreal, in some ways. Fantastical yet industrial. Or industrial yet fantastical. I still remember the first morning that a train went across one of those bridges as I navigated my way on that dark narrow trail. I about crashed, it startled me so badly!

So this morning, I stopped to take a picture. Low light, I knew it wasn’t going to be much of a picture, but I was hoping to capture something of the mood, of the essence, of that morning moment. And I feel like I did, once I mucked around in photoshop to make things visible.

Grainy and indistinct, it reminds me of those photos from the photographers in the 1800s. It is exactly what I was hoping for.

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