I’m a sucker for cities on a weekend morning. With nobody rushing off to work, the restless streets are hushed and vacant.
I started a new Saturday morning tradition.
I drag my ass out of bed, then get dressed in mismatched Yoga clothes. I wander over to the boulangerie right when they open, before the line goes out the door.
I grab a fresh chocolate hazelnut croissant and a latte. Their comforting smells warm me.
This morning I felt inspired to capture my awakening city.
I took the kind of photos I could never take during the day, without people thinking I’m Crazy Stalker Lady.
If any of the local businesses in my neighborhood look at their security cameras, they’ll either think I’m planning a heist or just another starry-eyed tourist.
Let them think what they want. I had to share this beautiful secret.
Sleepy bakers are preparing for the pandemonium, not yet cloaked in flour or sweating beneath their aprons. Though that will all change soon enough.
A couple shares a quiet cup of coffee together, enjoying the empty cafe before they begin their day.
The library on the corner awaits the invasion of eager minds. The chairs sit still, watching over the books as they sleep.
Cutlery echoes from the restaurant opening for brunch. The sandwich board sign is set out, directing crowds inside for hot food and cozy conversation.
The tavern is unusually silent and clean. Liquor bottles rest against one another behind the bar. The old fireplace is cool, but you can still catch a hint of wood in the air.
Slowly, darkness succumbs to morning light. A runner flies past me, more cars ease down the street, and doors swing open to welcome the day.
My city is awake.