The sounds outside are softer than usual. A sky not yet awake holds a white glow, and the world is quiet as if it had swallowed all sound. My steps are light. The sounds I haven't yet made, the heavy breath the city lets out each morning, all of it seems to have sunk beneath that white layer. The moment my first step lands, I feel a crisp, muffled resistance underfoot. A day when the pace of walking, and the pace of thinking, can be a little slower. A quiet daytime comes in which no one hurries me. This white hour that crept down overnight might, today, become my own.