He held the baby in his hands. Holding it tight, convinced that he could hear its little heart beat, swift as the wings of a tiny bird on the first day of spring. It didn´t cry anymore, didnt scream, completely silent. He smiled, gently stroking the angel hair on the tiny head. Holding it, holding it so tight. Time stopped, they turned to stone, or so it felt, waiting for the tiny bird to fly away.