Taiwan in Clear Weather

Taiwan appeared as real land today, green mountains layered into the distance. Not a rumour behind cloud, not an outline I had to persuade myself was there, but an unmistakable succession of slopes. After the mist of the Indian Ocean, the clarity felt almost theatrical. Someone seemed to have lifted a curtain and remembered that scenery should have depth.

I kept looking from the nearer green to the paler layers beyond it, enjoying the simple ability to distinguish one thing from another. The Taiwan Strait offered distance without withholding its contents. It is embarrassing how grateful I have become for a visible mountain. A few weeks ago I might have considered it merely part of the standard service supplied by land.

Container sat on the rail side of the enclosed promenade and watched fishing boats for an hour. I sat beside her. She followed their movements with a concentration I could not hope to match, though I made a respectable effort at remaining in place. There was the familiar vibration under the seat, air against my face and the quiet companionship of not needing to explain anything.

We are both improving at doing nothing. In her case this may be less an improvement than the continued practice of a discipline already mastered. For me it still requires resisting the urge to turn a pleasant hour into an achievement. Eventually I stopped trying. The boats moved, the mountains held their places in the distance, and neither of us contributed anything. The arrangement worked extremely well without us.