57460 winter wind

9 minutes

The winter winds of Armenia strike hard, a cold anvil to the face. They protest against the solid surfaces of buildings, moan like ghosts through the straining trees, and roll through church belfries like sighing flutes. They crash along the glistening ice in a glide that is deafening.

In Goris, they whistled and intoned in sad voices. At Tengher, the open air belfry roiled the air like a whistle. At the graves of the Ani kings, the rushing air made the voices of ghosts.