I was on the train with my younger daughter, on my way to the airport to see my older daughter for the first time in six months. I noticed the sun was setting, and the woman in front of me saw it, too. She cocked her head just so, and I noticed how the red of her sweater mimicked the red of the sunset. I took the photo and showed it to my younger daughter, who nodded wordlessly. We somehow shared a simple pleasure — this stranger, my daughter, and me — right there, suspended in time, suspended between here and there. It was somehow beautiful. It was somehow a gift. And there was another gift yet to come, at the airport.