Colourless scene

There's a woman down on the empty plot where cars park and dogs shit, and is always muddy and full of large pools when it rains, littered with all sort of miscellaneous junk people shamelessly get rid of to let it rot in the sun, a real mess of a place altogether, with a little, weather-beaten church in a corner beside a tall, dirty palm tree that not even the recent plague of red weevil dared not to kill. There's a woman there now, an old woman from what I can tell from my distant window, all dressed in black, dragging a wheeled shopping cart painted a vivid purple. She holds a bag in her right hand. She's been there for a good portion of the morning. She's looking for valuable items - anything remotely valuable - she may find amongst the debris on the ground. Every so often she'd stoop to pick up something which, after inspection, she may drop into the cart she drags. She is painfully slowly combing the whole place in what looks like a truly act of quiet desperation. And bit by bit the colourless scene unfolds.