A Tea House in the Mountains

Settle in now, and let yourself get comfortable, wherever you are resting tonight.

You are walking slowly along a narrow path, high in the mountains. The air is cool and soft against your face. A pale mist hangs all around you, so you can only see a little way ahead. The path is made of flat stones, worn smooth by many years of quiet footsteps. They feel steady beneath you. There is no hurry here. There is nowhere else you need to be.

On either side of the path, tall grasses lean gently in the breeze. Small drops of water cling to their tips. Now and then, one falls with a tiny sound you can barely hear. Far below, somewhere in the valley, a stream is moving over rocks. Its sound rises up to you, low and constant, like a long, slow breath.