This morning, while preparing breakfast, I noticed an elderly woman sifting through the trash bin behind my neighbor’s house. She wore a broad rimmed hat; her shoulders were stooped, her back bent, and when she walked it was easy to see she could only move with great difficulty.

I was dressed in P.J.s, and by the time I had finished dressing and made it outside to see if she needed help she had moved on. But I have replayed the scene inside my head all day.