Мамине намисто

It's as if the morning light peeked into Mom's jewelry box - gently, carefully, with love. There lies a necklace where each bead is a memory, advice, a kind word that warms even when it's cold outside. There's something about this sound that feels like an ancient ritual – as if you're not just putting on jewelry, but connecting with your roots, with those who sang, prayed, and believed before you. The song unfolds like a branch after the rain - transparent, clean, a little magical. And I want to believe that somewhere among the beads of fate, my own - the very one, the kind one - is already waiting. Not bought, not found, but simply felt, when the heart becomes quiet.