A Morning at the Sri Lankan Tea Estate

As dawn unfurled over the mist-cloaked hills, I wandered into a tea estate where the air hummed with the earthy scent of wet soil and the sweet tang of blooming tea bushes. Sunlight filtered through silver-green leaves, casting diamonds on dew-laden buds that nodded in the mountain breeze. A plucker in a colorful sarong plucked tender leaves, her nimble fingers dancing over the branches. "The first flush tastes like morning itself," she said, dropping leaves into a wicker basket.
Near the processing shed, a machine rolled fresh tea leaves, their aroma intensifying as they released emerald juices. I knelt to inhale the warm scent, captivated by how the leaves curled like tiny claws. A myna bird hopped along a bamboo railing, chirping at the rhythm of the rolling machine, while a stray dog napped on a pile of tea dust, its fur flecked with green. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle echoed, cutting through the mist that lingered in the valleys.
The plucker handed me a pouch of freshly picked tea, its moisture dampening the fabric. "Steep it in mountain water," she smiled, pointing to a waterfall thundering nearby. Sunlight grew stronger, gilding the peaks of distant mountains and turning the mist into wisps of cotton candy.
By mid-morning, the estate buzzed with activity: trucks arrived to collect tea leaves, a chef prepared tea-infused shortbread, and children played among the rows, their laughter mixing with the rustle of leaves. I left with tea stains on my palms, reminded that in Sri Lanka, m

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