Whatever her story is, today and every day that I’m here, she’s here in her long, quilted green coat, her companion—a beagle?— nose to the ground, its tail a shimmy. Unlidded to lidded trash can they go, and all along the fence lining the stream, looking, I think, for whatever salvageable cast-offs can be found. By all appearances, she doesn’t need to, but who knows, maybe she does. The day after the first snow, she’d stopped, asked, What’s that you’re doing? and, to my answer, Yes, she’d said, of course, taiji. Today, as I turned southwest into Fair Lady Works the Shuttles, in it lost, there they were, close by, again, her companion sniffing along the fence at court’s edge, and she, standing by. I want to believe by now that she and I have gone beyond just being fair-weather friends as, moving on without pause, we simply smile, nod, say, Hello. Or don’t.