She stood in the windowsill, her back slightly hunched. Her shoulders drooped, leaving her long lean limbs looking lifeless as they hung by her side. Her wilted hands rested on the dry earth, which she wished were wet. Her parched throat grew hollow and she could no longer release the air of life. Her tiny frame became frail and less supple with each passing moment. By early afternoon, she was ready to bow down to death. On her hands and knees, she panted for breath, fighting against the whirling winds that wafted through the open window and threatened to whisk her away. She fell into a steady slumber, only to be awoken by cool drops of water falling from a plastic green sky. A post was driven into the soil next to her and a small soft ribbon was tied around her waist, attaching her body to the pole for support. By morning, she stood perfectly straight; her arms stretched towards the sun, her body soft and supple, her head tilted back in appreciation.