Stepping on Tea Leaves
Even this early, Ha Noi is industrious. In front of me. Right in front of me. If I could freeze-frame, it would be this:
Stop
Curls of breath and curls of still-hot teapot smoke entangle copying the curls in her hair.
She has already been up to groom herself before making and drinking tea.
Stop
Effort and flinging.
Stop
Low morning light catches the arch of water emerging from a cloud of steam in the pot.
Stop
The thick-headed snake dissipates like icicles dripping from a bowing branch. Melting.
Stop
A giant insect wing complete with iridescence. A water wing.
Stop
Water almost to the ground but not until she turns the pot upside down for another shake and a thud.
Stop
With reflexes slowed by observation, I step in something squishy as the woman has already turned and returned.
I am connected to this woman by the tea leaves stuck to my foot. They will come all the way to the station with me, possibly to Sapa, while the rest remain steaming in the street for a feral dog to sniff.
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