Georgian Publishers and Booksellers Association


Anna Darsavelidze - Mtskheris Tsikhe – the Castle of Quail

After seeing the castle, we would sit on the meadow and silently stare at the mountains. She never got tired from getting up here. Or I couldn’t see it. Again. Once, I told her that I, too, liked telling stories. It was like a confession, even I was scared by my own voice. She told me, she knew. When I confided that I was afraid no one would listen to me, she asked me to scream. I did. The mountains brought the echoed “hey” from one of our neighbors. She told me there would always be someone who would answer. And it was the moment when I felt the greenness around me and I thought I broke into atoms and joined the world. The world which would listen to me here and everywhere. I still think she is waiting for me in the moonlit night like it’s in her favorite song. Perhaps, I can’t go because I have nothing to tell. It scares me a bit. When I go back once in a while, and look at the house, the road and the tree planted by her, I feel that I’m with her, at home, where everything started.


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