The Happiest Ones in the Park,..

Every Sunday I come back to Cubbon Park.

And every Sunday, they are already here.

Like they never left. Like they've been waiting. Like Sunday was invented for them and the rest of us just showed up.

Tails wagging at nothing in particular. Tongues out, smiling at everything in general. Running behind their owners like it is the greatest honor of their morning.

Some bark at strangers. Some bark at each other. Some don't bother with any of it — just sit there, calm and unhurried, watching the world move without feeling the need to move with it.

A few are already asleep while the sun is still finding its way through the trees.

The runners pass them every week. Earphones in. Pace steady. Eyes ahead.

And the dogs?

The dogs watch every single one of them with the same open, easy joy.

No judgment. No scorekeeping. No wondering if yesterday was better or if tomorrow will be harder.

Just this. Just now. Just Cubbon Park on a Sunday morning smelling like wet grass and possibility.

I come here every week thinking I need the walk.

But honestly?

I think I come back because somewhere between the wagging tails and the sleeping dogs and the runners who don't notice any of it —

this place reminds me of something I keep forgetting by Wednesday.

That joy doesn't need a reason.

That presence is enough.

That some of the happiest souls around us aren't chasing anything at all.

They're just here.

Every Sunday.

Same park.

Same joy.

— Ayaan | And I am still learning, one Sunday at a time. 🐾

They don't know what day it is. And somehow they're the happiest ones in the park.