I woke up at 4 a.m. again.

This time I didn’t even consider going back to sleep.

My camera bag was already packed.

The mamachari’s pedal-assist battery was fully charged.

Before long, I was cycling through the quiet streets towards the Kiso River.

Hardly anyone was outside.

A few people were making their way to the train station.

An occasional car passed by.

Apart from that, the town was still asleep.

Yesterday afternoon I had flown at this very same location.

The weather had been dull and grey.

The footage looked just as dull.

I deleted it.

This morning felt completely different.

As I arrived, the first rays of sunlight began breaking through the clouds.

The Kiso River was almost perfectly still, reflecting the sky like a mirror.

I launched my first drone.

The familiar landscape suddenly looked new again.

From above, the river slowly wound its way through the countryside towards Ise Bay.

Gifu City lay quietly in the distance, backed by the mountains.

The early morning trains crossed the iron bridges, their sound reaching me several seconds before they came into view.

Along the dyke, people were out for their morning walk.

Every now and then we exchanged a quiet ohayō gozaimasu.

The birds had already begun singing, although they still sounded as if they were only just waking up themselves.

For the next hour I simply enjoyed flying.

I flew the same stretch of river several times with all three of my drones.

Not because I was looking for a different location.

But because the changing light kept revealing something new.

By the time I packed my equipment and cycled home, it was only 6:40 in the morning.

The rest of the day was still ahead of me.

As I rode home, I couldn’t help but think how much difference a few hours can make.

Yesterday afternoon, this place had felt flat and uninspiring.

This morning it felt alive.

The river hadn’t changed.

The bridges hadn’t changed.

Even the route was exactly the same.

Only the light had changed.

Sometimes that is all it takes.