Tea on a hike

Imagine walking on a hilly trail. With each step you’re being pulled deeper into the forest. There is a slight scent in the air. Not too prominent but still being felt .You place it as musk but it soon fades away. Bit by bit. The usual sounds that you expect are not there. No chirping of birds, no flapping of leaves, nothing at all. It’s strangely tranquil. The first sound being that of your foot tramping the perfectly crisp leaves. Slightly yellow at the edges green in the centre. You place the time as Autumn. The rays dance in a scattered pattern.A little wild dance in the middle of nowhere ,playing hide and seek between the redwood trees.So you stop and bask in the luminance. Only to see it radiate from within. But you miss the notes of music. Look around. No not ahead. Stay steady and look around again. So you do. Slightly tapping the pebbled junction. Creating a tone as unique as the eighth colour. Captivating your attention in such entirety that you don’t notice when you fall back. Swish and a thump.
Sturdy on your back you look back up. But it’s not the same path anymore. Is it ever? No no don’t ask me. Walk on. Yes just like that and stop looking back will you.
There you see a shack. Not a quaint cottage or a luxurious villa. It’s a shack. Just as it is. A roof of twigs and some logs; with a door that might as well would have not been there. So you enter and see little pot boiling in the corner. Is there a fire? There must be one you idiot how else would you boil the water. And moreover you just saw the grey haze of the smoke. Admonished you go sit back and wait. Both your hands crossed with eyes taking in each word of the story. Not a clue who’s writing it but you’re in it so might as well pay attention. Soon a young boy appears. Estimate his age around 10 years. However he looks like someone who’s been ten for a very very long time. You ponder for sometime whether to ask him something or not but what will you say? Will he even understand you? He walks around with the grace of a dancer. But who is he? Daftly he takes a huge banana leaf and an earthen pot. Fills it up with tea to the brim and serves it to you. You take it of course. With a sense of apprehension you take the first sip. Only to drown deeper into a place that’s as much a stranger as it is your own. Not even able to sense the flavour the tea leaves .And you’ll never know why you came here and who wrote this for you. To take you through a journey floating in serenity or was it serendipity?

 

The words serenity and serendipity were given by a very cute little potato in my life. So a huge shoutout to her.

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