This morning I was thinking about something seemingly unremarkable that I observed in my neighborhood about two weeks ago. I told my wife about it the other day.

I live in what would probably be called a working class residential neighborhood in New York City. On a recent Sunday morning, I was walking to a store about four blocks from my home to run an errand.

I like to people watch; however, there were few people out and about at the time. I sort of half noticed a woman who I would guess was in her thirties standing on a street corner, across the street from me, with a daughter who looked to be about eight. They were in front of St. Stanislaus Kostka Roman Catholic Church (known locally as St. Stan’s).

Suddenly, the girl broke free, as it were, from her mother and started running headlong down the block. I then noticed out of the corner of my eye a sixtiesh woman walking towards the girl and her mother, which was across the street and in the opposite direction from me.

“Grandma!” the girl shouted joyously, almost crying out of joy (as her quaking voice revealed). She leaped into her grandmother’s arms, buried her head, and clung to her grandmother — it was bowed as she leaned against her.

Her mother was smiling. The grandmother was overcome. Granddaughter and grandmother stood there hugging one another tightly as the mother approached and joined them.

Surely, I thought, then (inchoately) and shortly thereafter (reflecting upon the scene I had witnessed), such love — innocent, genuine, heartfelt, unspoiled — confounds philosophy.

— Roger W. Smith

   August 2017