Morning walk through the fog

Left the house early before the traffic began. The park was wrapped in a thick silver mist that muffled the sound of the nearby avenues. For forty minutes, there was only the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional call of crows hidden high in the bare sycamores. These quiet walks are where my thinking untangles. When sitting at the desk, I try to force ideas into shape through willpower. Out here, with cold air filling my lungs and feet moving steadily, the ideas arrange themselves without my interference. Returned home with cold cheeks and a quiet mind.