Sevan wind
The frantic and wild wind singing over Lake Sevan had been waiting for my arrival for a long time, knew how recklessly I would love him, flirted with me at a meeting, touched my hair, tried to rip off my shawl, kissed my temple and whispered self-confidently that from that moment my life will change.
The lake itself did not say anything, with foam, the edge of a wayward wave touched the palm of my hand and smiled, as if approving my acquaintance with the wind and confirming his words.
A gentle spring in Tsakhkadzor gently murmured under the window about how good it was for him to meet me here, as a guest, in the mountains, and every night he sent a basket of sleep as a gift, and in it - sweet as strawberries, air. But his older brother - a hot mountain spring - beckoned with fog, a fresh smell of relaxation in a warm font and crowded the soul with a mystery - why is the moon and stars so hot here than you can imagine?
Saghmosavank came out to us as a talkative, kind old storyteller - with a voice creaking from a cold, wrapping himself in a sheepskin, he talked for a long time about monks, wanderers, about Armenian men - selfless, skillful warriors, about their women - beauties with gentle hands, children - princesses and elves , and about the old people, whose firmament of life burns at sunset with the fire of deep wisdom.
The reliable walls of Etchmiadzin invited me worthily and calmly to go inside, gave me a feeling of complete security under the vigilant care of the Almighty, and told in a quiet, deep red-lilac voice about the treasures stored here and the saved souls of honest people, and a lone white dove, bathing in a ray of sunlight, for a long time he flapped his wings after him when it was time to leave and say goodbye.
The gloomy vaults of the Khor Virap dungeon sat unsupportably on my shoulders, enveloped me with a thick and sticky weight of the memory of the prisoners who languished here for no reason and without time, but when, coming out into the light, I found, as if by a wave of the almighty hand of the beloved wind, asphalt clouds, hovering in the morning, parting - the red sun of sunset conspiratorially winked at me, slowly leaving behind the top of the suddenly opened, in all its magnificent and eternal beauty, Ararat.
The jealous-fortress Garni did not want my arrival. She sent to meet the gloomy damp dusk of dark gorges, towered over me with the columns of a pagan temple, making me feel insignificant, breathed into my face the piercing, soul-chilling cold of the winter evenings of the Middle Ages and gave me a sweet chuchkhela as a farewell gift - just go away, don’t stay here.
Heeding the cold and fatigue, I boarded the plane, with a vague feeling of relief leaving this too unexpectedly open, wide open country to meet me, three days in which seemed to me like three heavy centuries spent among its children, churches, rivers and mountains. My hometown greeted me with a royal snow coat as a gift, a gem-colored scattering of New Year's night lights, and the warmth of friendly congratulations. And at the same moment, I was surprised to find that my life had really changed - my heart remained forever by the lake - it was stolen by my beloved - the Sevan wind.
Secret password for a successful trip - "Yerevan Travel"
Project organization:
The author of the idea is Alexandra (that is, me: 0)))
Chief director, chief magician, sorcerer, magician and master, master of fate - Hovhannes Khachatryan
First Deputy Chief Director, little mead maker and magician - Natella Petrova
The best connoisseur of secret paths and magical places - David Khachatryan
Genie, the keeper of knowledge and the key to the magic chest of history - Garspar Levonovich
Lord and manager of all mysteries and security secrets in the mountains and on the road - Hayk
Affected by the organization of the project: Armen, David, Natalia, Volodya, Svetlana, Maria, Irina, Zoya Garaginovna, Vladimir Nersesovich, director of "Multi Rest House" in Tsaghkadzor, director of the "Jupiter" hotel in Tsaghkadzor and all visitors to the pool: 0))) )
January, 2010