Here in Venice, so much happens in such a short time and space. Life is pressing all around, and the past mingles with the the present. Waking at dawn, I go out for a quick walk. A couple of people are already up and about, moving swiftly and silently. The bakery door is open, light on, smells of bread and pastries drifting out. The only sounds are of feet on cobblestones, the first pigeons' cooing, a motorboat's chugging.

At the Fondamenta Nuova, where the sea stretches out, the first rays of sun sparkle and gulls wing in circles, landing grouped on the water. Two old men row under a bridge and then out towards the island cemetery, San Michele. A green boat barely misses them. But I'm sure they know what they're doing. As I turn away from the water and onto the Fondamenta dei Mendicanti, I pass the hospital and a priest exits the foyer which opens onto the street, followed by a flower-covered coffin. In the next entryway, a medical technician in white pushes a cart of supplies.

A few steps away, a baby sits in a stroller. A young man kisses the baby's head while the mother scolds. Next, a little girl with a pained frown on her whimpering face leans towards her mother who is looking in a baggie for a cookie to give her.

It's getting light fast now. At the Campo of San Giovanni e Paolo, I am at the front of the hospital, the former Scuola Grande di San Marco. During the Renaissance this was a charitble organization run by nobles, and its beautiful marble facade has recently been restored. In the campo is the famous equestrian statue of the condottiere, or mercenary captain, Bartolomeo Colleoni by Verrochio. Below his towering presence another set of young parents climb over a bridge. She carries the stroller while he holds their toddler, red socks falling from his toes.

A new day begins.