From a New York Times guest essay by Roger Rosenblatt headlined “What Happens When an Artist Loses His Sight?”:

A few years ago, I began having trouble with my vision. Shapes became indistinct, colors muted. The world started to look like a grainy 1940s movie mystery, and I was the detective — a clumsy one.

I bumped into people. I stumbled over curbs and thresholds. On my morning walks with my dog, Molly, I could sense her frustration with my hesitant, halting gait. Dogs don’t see that well as it is, and being tethered to a slow and unsteady man must have been unnerving. Molly kept turning around as we crept forward, as if to say: What are you, blind?