The Brooklyn Bridge crosses the East River toward a Manhattan skyline lit gold by a winter sunrise, its stone towers catching the first color of the morning while the rest of the city still holds the blue of night. I had walked down to the DUMBO waterfront well before sunrise, the streets still empty, the cold coming off the water sharper than I expected. For a long while there was nothing to see but grey. Then the light found the bridge first, the old granite towers warming before the glass towers behind them caught up, and for a few minutes the whole span glowed against a sky still working out what color it wanted to be. The water held calm enough through the long exposure to carry the skyline's reflection. I stayed until the gold gave way to ordinary daylight and the city went back to looking like itself.
