summer to spring

I thought returning in May I’d be back in Armenia for the summer.  That assumption held true in the capital, where the lowland climate heats up much more quickly than up north.  Upon my return, while waiting to see the doctors, I spent an entire day sitting in a park around a man-made pond near Yerevan’s opera house.  The slopes of grass between the pond and the surrounding cafes is home to three or four trees.  I sat in the shade of one and devoured a few hundred pages of Irving’s The World According to Garp, moving a few times for the sliding shade and once at the spray of the park’s sprinklers. In the instance of the sprinklers, a teenage boy found the gate valve and shut off the water, saving the afternoon for his teenage counterparts and consequently for me. My gratitude waned some when later the same boy sat next to me, forcing me to try on his sunglasses and then pose with him for a picture.

I have no idea why the city decided to water the grass at 3:00pm.  The day had reached a heat that, while pleasant, urged me to loose my jacket and roll my jeans into capris.  It felt like summer, and I laid there all day.

Now, come north to my tiny town, and you get to jump back an entire rain-cloudy season.  Ultimately I’m happy to be here to see every spare space coming up dandelions. Where there aren’t dandelions, the green is broken up by minute pansy like flowers no bigger than a pencil eraser; Armenians call them ‘Snow Drops’.  The apple trees are still blossoming, and the first sound every morning is one of a zillion songbirds.

Makes me as cheery as freaking Snow White. I feel like singing the street dogs into a house-cleaning stupor.

The sun is also setting so much later, and yesterday Serine gave me a cot from inside her house to set out in the garden.  I laid there on a giant feather pillow and called my friend who lives far south in the mountains.  I called her because I had to tell someone I was laying on a bed in the middle of a garden, sun splashing my shoulders, head resting on a giant feather pillow, a book at my side, and song birds twittering around me in the orchard apple trees.

Don’t worry; an hour and a half later a big gray rain cloud doused me and my cot and shut the song birds right up.  It was a pretty swell hour and a half though.

One Comment

  1. Sounds like heaven. Enjoy!

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