A spider scurries across its web along the side of your garage. A man walks his dog down the otherwise empty thoroughfare. A car door shuts behind you. A moth flutters overhead and loses itself in the night sky. A biker races across a street blocks ahead. Tree branches clap as you pass. A rabbit runs. Stars shine. A streetlight reflects just right in the community garden, turning a spec of grass into an emerald. A cleaner works inside the closed theater. Your feet crush remnants of black walnuts that bombed the sidewalk. “Good morning,” you say to a neighbor. You could see her before she could see you. She stretched and swayed a little, warming up for a run, presumably thinking no one was awake and around to see her. Your good morning is louder than a whisper but of the same felt sense. She smiles as she returns the greeting in kind. You do really mean it and you know she does, too. It is good morning be out and about out during these moments before sunrise in the Magic City.