March 18: We danced at the teahouse. It was on the way down the mountain when the small house appeared. Some might call it a hut but to us it was a beautiful spot along the trail that allowed us to rest, sip the tea and dance.
Yes, dance.
There was no music but that playing in our head. The Sherpa guides were kind and took our arms as we did a strange type can-can.
The walking sticks leaned against the teahouse wall. The backpacks lay on the ground. The dust layered our hair, clothes and skin to a point that it became part of who we were.
Tea, dust, isolation on a mountaintop. It was grand.
We hugged each other, petted the Yaks, laughed about the simplicity of it all and were completely content.
Contentment. It can be found wherever you are depending "where" you are.
It can even be found in a tea cup on a mountain ridge with the music playing inside.