It was rain-washed world that Sunday. The morning sun cut across the clouds and shone brightly on a dark haired little boy jumping from puddle to puddle in a narrow path in the park.He giggled each time the water splattered as he jumped. His father sat on a bench, lifting his head from a smartphone from time to time to check on him before going back to it.

Two old men, out on their morning walk, stopped to look at the little boy. They whispered to themselves and then suddenly, joined the little boy. They jumped from puddle to puddle, feeble, little jumps and laughed with glee. 

A young couple, seeing the three, stopped their jogging, smiled and joined in.

Now there were more people than puddles. But the laughter and fun compensated as the awaited their turns to stomp on the puddles.
The father, noticing the laughter and commotion looked up. Realising what was happening, he slowly put his phone away, smiled and joined the laughter.
A little boy and a few little puddles had given these adults, tired of life, a glimpse of their childhood. It was a happy Sunday.

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