Morning

7:43am At the top of the hill we turned left. Our path became narrow and uneven with low hanging branches overhead.The dog pulled her lead so I took in the slack. Stillness enveloped us. The only sounds were those I created; keys jangling in my pocket, water sloshing rhythmically in the bottle, the sound of my own breathing. For a moment the sun peeked out from behind the marine layer. The air instantly felt thick. I absently wished for a breeze or another cloud. Luckily both arrived. Then my thoughts turned to work. I decided a job can define limits on time and freedom like bars in a prison cell. That work can appear like an unnecessary construct that robs us of peace. Yet without those limits what would we truly do? It is easy to believe the lack of freedom keeps one from finding peace. But perhaps that is misdirection. The surrender of freedom to a job hides the inability to find peace rather than causes it.