Two days ago, I heard tales of how Giorgi’s family came to be; tales that rival any legend with lost love, kidnapping and murder. With giants and foreign lands. Yes, I’ll write those down someday too. I saw a funeral procession where the guest of honor was carried above her bearers’ heads, face forward to say good-bye to the world, tucked into her transport like a militarily made bed. I smelled fresh mountain air, ate by the light of an oil lamp, and watched the sun set into a thousand different shades of pink. When my baby slept in my arms on the long ride home, I even saw a hedgehog scurry across the road in the headlights.
In my life, I’ve lived on four continents, seen the sun rise over the Dead Sea, climbed to the top of Ayers Rock, made a pilgrimage to the monastery in Petra’s painted city, trusted strangers to drive us across the deserts of Egypt, looked across the straits to see the Rock of Gibraltar, climbed to the top of mountains, hiked into Bryce Canyon at dawn, and driven through the hills of Ireland all in search of beauty. And nothing compares to the vistas I’ve found in Giorgi’s ancestors’ land. I may soon be lost into this place.
Thank you all for following my blog and sharing a bit of my adventures here in Georgia. We return on Wednesday from our time away and look forward to spending time with friends and family in the U.S. Peace.
