As an early riser, I've always been drawn to the calm, melancholic moments before the sun comes up. There’s this gentle dread in knowing that once the day begins, the stillness turns into a pressure to be productive — to keep everything together through to-do lists, calendars, and routines. Paired with the unease of sleepless nights, I am drawn to the way that the darkness softens the trees, leaves, and shadows. Being present in those moments allow for an appreciation of how natural patterning echoes each other without ever being identical or perfect. I find myself most comfortable in the fleeting moments between night and day, where routine is comforting rather than suffocating, where structure meets variation, and where the darkness reveals more than it could ever obscure.