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By this point of the year, with summer fading, the sun is just beginning to rise over the park at five in the morning.

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The fringes of the sky turn blue, and the familiar shapes of trees and plants push through the remaining night.  

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Nobody else is in this section of the park. 

It's comforting to be alone for a few minutes. I can feel the rising sun and it makes me hopeful. 

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Before I start scrolling through the terrible news.

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It's a strange time to be alive, when it seems like we're on the cusp of many things both good and bad. (But let's be honest: mostly bad.) 

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The dim light makes the flowers look like they are frozen in time, or part of a painting. 

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The garden is a pathway to another world.