Untitled | February 2012 | Copyright 2012

At 7:00 a.m. on Saturday, the entire city of San Francisco is still asleep. Leaving the house with my camera, I feel sneaky - one noise and the town will awaken. Walking to the park, there are other early risers. We pass on the street quietly, an unspoken understanding between us. Don’t wake the others. This time is ours.

I come upon the morning tai chi group flowing through their motions, the calming music breaking through the morning silence. Further on, by the baseball field, two dog walkers stand and chat quietly, steaming coffee in hand, while their charges chase each other in excited loops around the field. There is still dew on the grass. My canvas sneakers get wet.

As I make my way back home, the others begin to stumble slowly out of apartments and houses, rubbing their eyes. Garage doors open. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafts down the block. Silverware clinks. I hear the low murmur of my neighborhood as they talk across their morning papers.

I’ll be in bed long before everyone else on Saturday night, drifting off to sleep to the sounds of the other apartment dwellers laughing, talking on the phone, watching TV.

And then on Sunday, if we’re lucky, we’ll do it all again.

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