Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

We were tired and breathless. Then we sat down on the grass and smiled at each other. We didn’t speak but we were very happy. Bibi jumped up and ruffled my hair with her small hands, as if looking for something. And the tender movements of her hands filled my heart with so much delight that I held my daughter again and we rolled on the grass and the dry leaves around us stuck on our clothes.

“Hey, Beetle, will you stop cheating me? Eh, little liar, stop ruffling my hair!”

And Bibi laughed . . . And it seemed it would never end . . . Like the stream which had flowed down the valley for thousands of years. I got up, shook the leaves off my clothes then filled the jug with cold spring water, took my backpack and hurried to catch up with my daughter who had already reached the path. The path stretched along the river almost all the way down to the village; it only twisted twice, around a huge rock and a thick blackberry bush. I knew why Bibi was hurrying. She was impatient to see the blackberry bush. We had come across the bush on our way to the valley. It was the first time in her life that she had seen a real bush with so many blackberries. She was stunned to see such big and juicy berries and looked at me with her round eyes, like blackberries. I picked some berries and put them in her hand. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The blackberries she

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