Alarm. Eyes still shut. Roll over. Roll out of bed. Sweatshirt on. Sweatpants on. Camera over shoulder. Send text. Slip downstairs, crack open the door, don’t let it squeak—even the dog is still asleep. Start the car. Sleepy music as the soundtrack, softening the edges of my intrusion on the stillness and glow of 5am. I see clouds rimmed in dark blue as I drive, blinking sleep from my eyes. I pick her up, the music changes. It feel less like an invasion and more like a secret you’re in on when there’s two of you. We get to the lake and realize quickly that the hazy purples and pinks won’t show up this morning. The clouds cover the sky; everything is gray. But we’re here. We’re awake. So we go in the water. Sweatshirt off. Sweatpants off. Camera around neck. The lake feels warm compared to the chilly morning air. It’s quiet. We go out further: waist deep for me, diving under for her. Goosebumps rise with the sun we can’t see. A truck drives by, the world starting to turn now. We’re cold—time to go home.