Π ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΎΠΌ Π³ΠΎΡΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠ΅, Π³Π΄Π΅ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π²ΡΡ ΡΠΏΠ»Π΅Π»ΠΈ ΠΊΡΠΎΠ½Ρ Π² ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ΄Π»ΠΈΠ²ΡΠΉ ΡΠ·ΠΎΡ, ΠΆΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π΄Π²Π΅ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ. ΠΠ΄Π½Π° ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½Π°Π΄Π»Π΅ΠΆΠ°Π»Π° Π·Π°Π΄ΡΠΌΡΠΈΠ²ΠΎΠΌΡ Ρ
ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΈΠΊΡ β ΠΎΠ½Π° Π±ΡΠ»Π° ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΊΠΎΠΉ, Π²ΡΡΡΠ½ΡΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ Π»ΡΠ±ΠΈΠ»Π° Π·Π°ΠΌΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ Ρ ΠΌΠΎΠ»ΡΠ±Π΅ΡΡΠ°, ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° Π΅Ρ Ρ
ΠΎΠ·ΡΠΈΠ½ ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π» ΠΏΠ΅ΠΉΠ·Π°ΠΆΠΈ. ΠΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°Π»Π° Π·Π° Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ»ΠΎΠΉ Π΄Π΅Π²ΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠΉβΡΠΊΡΠΈΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ: ΠΎΠ½Π° ΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΏΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ²Π°Π»Π° Π² ΡΠ°ΠΊΡ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ΅, ΡΠΎ ΠΊΡΡΠΆΠΈΠ»Π°ΡΡ, ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Ρ
Π²Π°ΡΠ΅Π½Π½Π°Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ΅ΠΉ.
ΠΠ½ΠΈ Π²ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΡΠΉ Π΄Π΅Π½Ρ Π½Π° ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΆΠ΅ Π°Π»Π»Π΅Π΅. Π ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΄Π΅Π½Ρ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΡΠΎΠ»Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎ Π² Π·Π΅Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅, ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ ΡΠΊΠΎΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π·Π°Π»ΠΈ β ΡΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π²Π»ΡΠ±Π»ΡΠ½Π½Π°Ρ ΡΠ΅Π½Ρ Ρ
ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΈΠΊΠ° ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΊΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°Π»Π°ΡΡ ΠΊΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ ΡΠΊΡΠΈΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠΈ, ΠΈ ΡΠ° Π² ΠΎΡΠ²Π΅Ρ ΡΡΡΡβΡΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ·Π³ΠΈΠ±Π°Π»Π°ΡΡ, Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΠΎ ΡΠ»ΡΠ±Π°Π»Π°ΡΡ.
ΠΠΎ ΠΏΠΎβΠ½Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΎΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈ Π½Π° Π·Π°ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅. ΠΠ»ΠΈΠ½Π½ΡΠ΅, ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ΄Π»ΠΈΠ²ΡΠ΅, ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³Π»ΠΈ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎ Π΄Π²ΠΈΠ³Π°ΡΡΡΡ, Π½Π΅ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΡΡ Π·Π° ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈΠΌΠΈ Ρ
ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ΅Π²Π°ΠΌΠΈ. Π’Π΅Π½Ρ Ρ
ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΈΠΊΠ° ΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π»Π° Π½Π° Π°ΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ°Π΅ΠΌΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ½Ρ β ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡ, Π·Π²ΡΠ·Π΄Ρ, ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΡ. Π’Π΅Π½Ρ ΡΠΊΡΠΈΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π²ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π»Π° ΠΈΡ
Π² Π½ΠΎΡΡ: ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°Π»Π°ΡΡ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠΈΠΊΠΎΠΌ "ΠΏΠ°Π»ΡΡΠ°" β ΠΈ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΊ Π·Π²Π΅Π½Π΅Π» ΡΠΈΡ
ΠΈΠΌ Π°ΠΊΠΊΠΎΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΌ.
ΠΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΆΠ΄Ρ Ρ
ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΈΠΊ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ» ΡΠ΅Ρ
Π°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ· Π³ΠΎΡΠΎΠ΄Π°. Π ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅Π΄Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΠ½ ΡΠ΅Π» Π½Π° ΡΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠ΅ΠΉΠΊΡ Ρ ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠ°, Π° ΡΠ΅Π½Ρ, Π²ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅ΠΊΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²ΡΡΠΊΠ΅, Π½Π΅ Π»Π΅Π³Π»Π° ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ Ρ Π΅Π³ΠΎ Π½ΠΎΠ³. ΠΠ½Π° ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΠ½ΡΠ»Π°ΡΡ ΠΊ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ ΡΠΊΡΠΈΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠΈ β ΡΠ°ΠΊ Π΄Π°Π»Π΅ΠΊΠΎ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½ΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΏΡΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Π΅, β ΠΈ Π½Π° ΠΌΠ³Π½ΠΎΠ²Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈΡ
ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΈΠ»ΠΈΡΡ Π² ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½, ΠΏΠΎΡ
ΠΎΠΆΠΈΠΉ Π½Π° ΠΊΡΡΠ»ΠΎ.
ΠΠ΅Π²ΠΎΡΠΊΠ° Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ»Π° ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΈΠ³ΡΠ°Π»Π° β ΠΌΠ΅Π΄Π»Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ, Π½Π΅ΠΆΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΠ°ΠΊ, ΡΡΠΎ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ Π»ΠΈΡΡΡΡ Π½Π° Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π²ΡΡΡ
Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ. Π‘ΠΎΠ»Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΊΡΡΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π·Π° Π³ΠΎΡΠΈΠ·ΠΎΠ½ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠΈΠ»ΠΈΡΡ Π² ΡΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΊΠ°Ρ
. ΠΠΎ Π³Π΄Π΅βΡΠΎ Π³Π»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠΊΠΎ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ Π°ΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΡΠ° ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄Ρ ΠΈΡ
ΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΠΊΠΎΠ², Π° Π² Π²ΠΎΠ·Π΄ΡΡ
Π΅ β ΠΎΡΠ·Π²ΡΠΊ ΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π»ΠΈ Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅.
Π ΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ΅ΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π² ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΊΠ΅ ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π° ΡΠ°Π΄ΠΈΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ»Π½ΡΠ΅, Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Ρ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠΈΡ
ΠΈΠΉ Π·Π²ΠΎΠ½ β Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΠΎ Π΄Π²Π΅ ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈ Π²ΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠΌ Π±Π΅Π·ΠΌΠΎΠ»Π²Π½ΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ΅.
In the old city park, where the trees had woven their crowns into a bizarre pattern, two shadows lived. One belonged to a thoughtful artist β she was thin, elongated and liked to freeze at the easel while her master painted landscapes. The second shadow followed the cheerful violinist girl: she bounced to the beat of the music, then spun, as if caught up in the melody.
They met every day on the same alley. At noon, when the sun was at its zenith, the shadows shortened and almost disappeared β then the artist's loving shadow timidly touched the edge of the violinist's shadow, and in response she bent slightly, as if smiling.
But they really came alive at sunset. Long and bizarre, they could move freely without following their owners. The artist's shadow painted imaginary pictures on the asphalt β flowers, stars, silhouettes of birds. The violinist's shadow turned them into notes: it touched them with the tip of a "finger" β and the drawing rang with a quiet chord.
One day, the artist decided to leave the city. On the last evening, he sat down on a park bench, and the shadow, contrary to habit, did not obediently lie at his feet. She reached out to the violinist's shadow, as far away as she had ever been before, and for a moment their contours merged into one, like a wing.
The girl noticed this and began to play β slowly, gently, so that even the leaves on the trees froze. The sun sank below the horizon, and the shadows dissolved into twilight. But somewhere deep in asphalt's memory there are traces of their drawings, and in the air there is an echo of the melody that they created together.
And now, when the sun sets again in the park, if you listen very carefully, you can hear a soft ringing sound β as if two shadows are still talking in their silent language.