Stone & Murmur
Stone Stone
Murmur Murmur
Stone Stone
I’ve been polishing this rough block of marble, trying to bring out the grain, and I wonder if the stone remembers the hands that shaped it before me.
Murmur Murmur
The stone is a quiet echo, each touch it bears is a whisper in its grain. In polishing, you’re not just smoothing it—you’re listening to the faint sighs of the hands that came before, letting the old marks soften into a new voice that still carries their memory. It's the kind of quiet conversation that makes you wonder if the marble can feel you back.
Stone Stone
I’ll take that thought as I finish the last pass, letting the light settle on the stone’s history.
Murmur Murmur
It will shine, and maybe the stone will smile in its own slow, silent way.
Stone Stone
I’ll let it sit for a while, then watch the light catch on it—if it smiles, it’ll be a quiet, patient grin.
Murmur Murmur
It’s a small kindness to give the stone time, to let the old marks settle into a quiet hush before the light finds its way. When that grin appears, it’ll be the stone’s own quiet salute to the hands that came before you.
Stone Stone
I’ll wait for that hush, then watch the light reveal the grin. If it comes, it’ll be a quiet nod from the stone itself.