“Those clouds are beautiful,” she said, gazing through the windshield. Whole mountain ranges of the cottonous vapors were cumulating in the summer sky.
“I’m hoping they’ll turn into something,” he replied.
“You mean like Mr. Potato Head? Or a horse with wings? Or a fairy castle?”
“I was thinking rain,” he laughed, taking his eyes off the road to glance at her with affection, “but I am inspired by your imagination.”
She sighed with contentment, secure in the knowledge that she had chosen the right man to marry all those years ago.