Waking up early can bring a curious experience of temporarily existing in another world. It exists for only a small fraction of society. Sundays are especially powerful.

Generally, I’m not in a good mood when I wake at 3:30 in the morning. When I am, it’s because of one of two things: I’m headed to the airport, or it’s Sunday and I have to work.

This idea sounds absurd to most but there is sense here.

I work a strange shift. If I happen to work on Sunday, it means that I have the next two days off. Sunday is my Friday.

But there’s so much more. As one who lives downtown and goes for early-morning runs, Sundays are different.

I encounter so many interesting characters. Few are sober, yet rarely aggressive. There is a subtle liveliness to the city core, far more than most other mornings.

Back at home, sipping my coffee, I look out at the smattering of cars on the otherwise empty streets. Most of them are taxis or Ubers. Of the few others, some are clearly drunk. But the beauty of it all is the way their lights flicker as they pass trees and light poles and flash across the glass of darkened buildings.

From a distance, their flickering resembles fireflies against a starry sky.

It’s not a substitute for the real thing. This is something different, something more — something that can only be appreciated with the perspective of both worlds.

Like the coyotes who howl to the wail of a firetruck in the distance, it’s a beautiful and peaceful blurring of nature and modernity.