Foothills of the Himalayas. Paused at a tea stall. Deep valley falling away. Distant plains. Six charpoys in the clearing, in rough rows. Deodar shade dappling a few, sunshine on the rest. A mild day. Only the owner, I, and a couple of patrons. Tranquil. Distant lilting birdcalls. Sipping the sweet, hot tea from its small cup. The old two-lane tarmac curving up the mountainside between tall, dark trees. The road vacant, waiting patiently for its next vehicle. Far off truck revving. Leaves rustling silently. Peaceful. Time moving slowly, or not at all. Cool whispering breeze wandering by. Nowhere to rush, for it and me.
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