You head straight to your favourite spot. At least your favourite for a sunny day. Sitting down on the bench in the dappled shade you think it is good place to drift off, even if you don’t see them. Or encounter anything else.

But you know you will, so you wait. Expecting.

You wait for some time. Many others, out enjoying the weather, pass you by, but nothing strikes you. You know nothing else will please you as much, and you have patience. Patience and time.

You hear them before they have turned into the square. Their love speaks loudly. He is doting, and though she complains, she is barely five months pregnant, she knows that he will be there to help her when things are even harder.

He is full. Full of her. Full of them. Full of his child. As she grows, and as it grows, so does his joy.

You wonder how he can sustain it. Every time you see them he seems to be on the verge of bursting, but by the next time he has grown even more.