At the Base of Azhdahak (On Encroachment)

Photo by Hovhannes Martirosyan

The fields beyond the city of Vedi are arid and rocky, with patches of dried grass poking out through the soil. The area quickly becomes hilly as you approach the mountains, rolling up and down like frozen waves. There is nothing green for miles around; only dull earthen tones that cut a jagged edge across the bottom of the blue horizon.

Winter ended a month before; but here there are still patches of ice and snow. Some have melted into little ponds that work as mirrors reflecting the clouded sky.

We are at the base of Azhdahak, the third tallest mountain in the country. The air is chilly, and feels as though it is rushing down the slopes of the mountains. The others begin to climb; the want to see the volcano's corpse drowned under water.

I stay behind, wandering away from the bus toward the fields. There are cows grazing nearby, a whole heard spread out in the search for food. I hear dogs bark in the distance, working to corral them.

Returning to the base of the mountain, I find a rock and lay down against it. I stare into the sky, watching slow moving clouds. I hear the wind blow through the dried grass, and insects moving nearby, laughter from the peak of the mountain, and the nothing of the open fields and rolling hills.

I inhale the fresh air and let the my surrounding comfort me as I fall asleep.

Photo by Hovhannes Martirosyan

I awake to the sounds of my companions. We enter the bus and begin the ride home. The sounds of dogs barking catches my attention, I look out the window and see a number of tents set up in the near distance. Running along side the bus are a number of dogs, growling and angry, ready to kill us for trespassing.

This is the home of shepherds, their territory. A place of beauty and hardship at the edge of the world. I feel as we have stolen something.

We are not welcome here.