We drove down the highway. Ahead was a river of shimmering lights - white lights approaching from the left and red traveling with us on the right. The mountains stretch out beyond the shining river, the sun leaves a pink glow in the grey-blue sky which will soon deepen to black. In the car is the sound of classical violins and the fluctuating tones of a one-sided conversation of my mother-in-law on the phone. I don't understand most of the words, I don't even bother trying to pick up on the meaning. That would require effort that I might need to apply at another time, there's no point in exhausting myself for a conversation not relevant to myself.
On road trips like this I often become lost in my own thoughts. I can't think of anything to talk about, so we ride on in comfortable silence. Since Rex is on this road trip, most of the actual communication happens between my in-laws and him. That's what you call the path of least resistance. My own thoughts lately have involved books downloaded on my phone. I am often transported from Taipei's busyness to the lives of Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins, or even Beverly Cleary herself.
My only concern with my increased reading lately is the relatively reduced opportunities I grab hold of to practice speaking and listening in a Chinese world.
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