A Tea Leaf

The tea is piping hot and smells of spice, the soft aroma of forests distant and fields, bristling in the morning wind. A sip would fasten to your tongue and settle there, in tiny cottages, roofs glistening with snow, and window panes dazed and foggy, faces peering out at morning dew. Each cradling small, sizzling teacups, steaming up their blissful, sleepy souls.