Back in Yerevan, Armenia, there was a slight increase in the temperature in the last few weeks. The sun felt a little more intense, and the layers of clothing needed for venturing into the outdoors was decreasing with it. The mornings still felt a little chilly, however. But nights were no longer in the minus, and daytime weather allowed for a few hours of sitting outside with coffee before it got a little too chilly to remain. I'm in a small village in Georgia now, and this area isn't too far from the Armenian border. About a three hour drive through the mountains. Yet here the climate is completely different. Nights here were hitting as close as negative twenty. Daytime weather was lucky if it hits above zero at all. Though the sun here is stronger, hitting the Earth and that light and heat bouncing back up from the snow that is all around. I sit inside right now and feel the heat, a strong light coming through the drapes by the window. It's incredibly comforting. Going outside, it's still just about minus in the day, but you don't really feel it at all. 

But there is something that is too sudden to not notice. And that would be the very rapid changes in the weather as it starts to come around 6PM. The sun begins its descent a little earlier due to the village being surrounded by mountains. The light quickly disappearing with it. The days here feel longer than usual, and I feel more tired than usual with it. You can go for a walk feeling warm, and as the sun quickly goes away, you realise it's now freezing cold, your hands stiffening up, your ears and nose starting to feel the cold particularly. Perhaps even your toes without the right socks and shoes. I have had a few encounters like this in the recent days, slowly coming to learn and adapt to it. Yesterday I walked out of the village to photograph the surrounding mountains from afar, a little too distant with the 35mm lens but I still insist on the attempts; a beauty too strong to ignore and not have memories of. 

With these sudden changes in the weather come some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. Two nights ago was a strong contender for first place, if not winning that role entirely. A gradient of colour that coated the sky, such gentle beautiful tones that crept over the mountains. One side of the village a beautiful strong orange colour, the other side a mixture of pink, purple, and a little bit of blue. It was almost like being in an older episode of The Simpsons, if you know what I mean regarding the tones used in the art for sunsets. A little bit like a dream, long roads ahead that lead to nowhere, mountains all around. Not a single car in the horizon, nor a single house or person. A strange yearning for pushing forward and attempting to catch up with the fleeting tones that seemed to slowly melt into one as they hid behind the mountains, waiting to be found again. Such a dangerous beauty.

In some aspects this village holds some modern elements of life to it. One of the main roads in and out seems relatively new. The rest, thick mud roads that are covered in ice, impossible to walk through without getting your clothes a little dirty. Though for the most part, it's like this village sits in its own little realm, holding decades of history within each set of walls. Many homes containing Soviet era cookers and fridges still. Homes a mixture of stone and wood. Some having had expansions done on them as they're passed down to newer generations of farmers in the family. One thing you cannot escape is the endless roaming of animals: chickens, roosters screaming their lungs out all day, cows sprinting through the streets as the farmers direct them back home. Many farm dogs which serve as protection for the farm animals around, barking while chained up at everything that passes. The odd atmosphere and changes in temperature match the living here. Streets empty quickly during the day as the sun goes down. Whereas during the sunlight hours, men stand around in the middle of the village, sitting under huts and playing Nardi.

I have been to a few of the homes here already, meeting many of the Armenians that call this village in Georgia home. Though the language barrier tends to be the largest hurdle, in such a remote place it's hard to find someone that can speak English. My little Russian and Armenian skills only going so far. And there's only so much others can translate for me. Though this is more just a sign that there's always another chance to come to these places. To learn and adapt a little more with time. Integration being something that can't happen overnight.