Monastery outside of Yerevan

We stood at the ledge of the valley, in silence, we had agreed, that each would enjoy the view casually, individually, yet in proximity to each other. The light of the afternoon was like a lazy summerset, an innocent yellow, like the color of newborn baby’s blanket, it shined over the valley, making the changing tree leaves fluorescent against the brown hillside. Along the ridge of the mountain, the sound of water would start and stop depending on which angle of the bend we walked on.
The monastery stood at the tip of the mountain, where down below, two rivers met. It stood like a model in a perfect photograph, almost unbelievable and definitely unattainable.