A path to the stones

by Varduhi Badalyan (Armenia)

A leap into the unknown Armenia

Have you ever been in a fairy tale? I was. Once. And since I was in that thousand years old ruins on the top of the mountain, I want to go there again. But there is a fear, that if I go, nothing will be the same and I may lose the feeling of the mystery I had then. It was a foggy day then. The sky was both blue and gray and had a strange spot of green because of the forest around. The trees were green yet, but the smell of the autumn came with the fresh breath of the mountain wind. We had to walk a long way and I was sure I would get terribly tired when I reach the place. Is it worth walking so long? This question was with me for a while. But then the forest welcomed us. I could hear the voices of trees and the wild birds were talking to them about the forest routine. The deeper I entered the forest, the more I wished to go ahead. I should be tired but I had a feeling of flying instead. The green arch of trees was surrounding us and I was sure that somewhere there were living fairies, dwarfs and other creatures living in my fantasy. I could feel their presence there. Then came the river with the song of water, and the wind was singing the same, and the trees, all of the creatures were whispering something about happiness and freedom. I was in an ancient era, there was no civilization, just the wild freedom that one cannot find in the cities. Then was the world of a small waterfall and the springs with crystal and cold water with taste of forest. Some fresh, green taste that living water should have. And then came the ruins. The fragile zephyr of ancient times surrounded me with stories that no one remembers any longer. The stones with carving were spread among the trees and I seemed to be the first one after ages who came there again. In the end the sunset came to tell me the story of dying civilizations and the forest was whispering, that life is eternal and somewhere it would be born and go on whatever ever happens…