Queen of the Hills: Darjeeling

Darjeeling: the word rings from your lips like a spoon clanging against porcelain. With her head high, she bends her long neck down to the clouds and invites them into her city walls. All is quiet as the blanket of white covers the red and blue houses and sits, while hands pick tea buds from wet hillsides. She sleeps and clouds roll swiftly over sloping roofs, funneling through valleys and crawling over the tallest peaks in our world. A coolness lingers in her air, while fasts are broken with aloo paratta and black tea. Windows are open. A spot of blue opens up, widening into a view so magnificent you might think it's a mirage, a dream some architect drew up in your head. Kanchenjunga. His peak rises higher and slopes fall steeper than any I've witnessed. He is her prized beau. Darjeeling ever fixed above the clouds, laying orchids at the feet of her love.