Madison Park, Chinatown, Oakland: scenes from an early morning

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The sky is February grey and there's a slight morning chill to match. A swarm of birds run overhead, destined for greater heights, then dart, in a dramatic turn, one way, then another, then out of sight.

This particular patch of sky sits above the park, more cement than grass, filled this crisp morning with bodies in motion, not all in unison. Like the birds now gone there are clusters of bodies moving together. Separate groups with their unified movement.

The largest group takes the better part of the park, standing on and around the radiating circular design of the park's cement. They move together, their wings and limbs outstretched, pausing, lifting holding. They follow a tape recording of a man’s voice, calling out qigong postures in Chinese. The calls come through a speaker that sounds as if it were coated in tin and other metal alloys. The recording slams up against a cacophony of sound.

Other groups of moving bodies have their own movements and soundtracks: from one direction bodies dance to a recording of traditional Chinese wind instruments. All arms go up to their heads, hands on the ears, a flap of the wings, and then arms down in dramatic and sharp gestures.

On an elevated platform just above them, a group moves slowly and deliberately. They hold swords in their hands and push them forward through space with the utmost intention. But even their swords cannot cut the sounds which have become tangled up in each other.

A short distance away another group holds its own, dancing to a faster, drum-like beat.

As if the full spectrum of movement has wrapped back on itself, another small group moves in the slowest, most gentle tai chi, slower even than the sword wielders.

Also competing for air time are the sounds of traffic, the swoosh of cars, their horns erratically demanding attention, and the nearby persistent knock of a jack hammer, desperately wanting in. Each group maintains its movement despite the distractions. Each moves as if flying, alongside their companions, some familiar, others simply stir with familiar movement.

And then, each group shakes, turns one way, then another, and then flutters off, away from the park and out of sight.

Lindsey Lee Keel is a student in the Public Interest Reporting Program at Mills College in Oakland. This article is part of an ongoing series exploring Oakland's Chinatown.