ghosts in the machine

Outside the air is clear, the hills in the distance beyond the Tamsui river caught sharp upon the air rather than lurking in the smoggy obscurity  that blows over from China on the west wind. Outside there's a freshness on the breeze, clouds scarce and fragmented, cool enough to merit a warm top, to encourage getting outdoors.


Taking a walk up into the Eco park and climbing up the hill, finding that the place is packed, busier than I've ever seen it before, small groups lingering chatting around the entrance, masked faces upon the paths, distanced for the most part. And it's good to be out, to find ways to lose yourself along the paths, distanced from the enclosing city.


Later, along the road to a Cantonese place which sells a good and cheap meal, if you eat meat, and, for those of us who don't, sweetcorn soup and tofu. That's not a complaint by any measure, the food is excellent, but hte scents of their meat and sausages are tempting. The place is busier than expected, most of the tables occupied, although there are conspicuous spaces between the separate groups, keeping that metre apart or, here, a chair between you and a stranger. The staff, for the first time that I've noticed here, are all wearing masks. And it all feels a bit subdue, while I still can't quite decide if it's the comedown from the last couple of months, an overactive imagination, or, reality arriving.