I run early in the morning.
Late that night I find myself walking on an unlit road somewhere in the middle of Golden Gate park. The sprinklers are going, and the fog is collecting in the trees then falling. The droplets catch the light from the moon. Momentary silver lines.
There is something about being alone in the dark that makes me feel calm. I think about what it would be like to be dropped here from another place in my life, with no knowledge of the journey in or the way out.
I look down the road and see a figure, pixilated by the low light, running towards me through the reflective sprinkler stains.