Shumok & Lorelaith
Shumok Shumok
Π― сидСла, ΠΏΠΈΠ»Π° Ρ‡Π°ΠΉ, смотрСла, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ солнцС поднимаСтся, ΠΈ Π²Π΄Ρ€ΡƒΠ³ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡƒΠΌΠ°Π»Π°, Ρ‡Ρ‚ΠΎ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ самыС простыС Ρ€ΠΈΡ‚ΡƒΠ°Π»Ρ‹ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡƒΡ‚ Π±Ρ‹Ρ‚ΡŒ Ρ‚ΠΈΡ…ΠΈΠΌΠΈ историями. А Ρ‚Ρ‹ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ понимаСшь ΡΡƒΡ‚ΡŒ Π² Ρ‚Π°ΠΊΠΈΡ… ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΡ‡Π°Ρ…?
Lorelaith Lorelaith
It’s just the sun’s slow tilt, the steam’s curl, and the moment the cup’s empty. I note each little beat, then stitch them into a rhythm that repeats. That rhythm becomes a story you can read on the table.
Shumok Shumok
That table‑tale feels like a quiet lullaby, a soft reminder that even the empty cup can hold a story.