She stands barefoot in tall grass, the kind that bends without breaking, her small frame catching afternoon light the way a leaf holds dew — briefly, brilliantly.

You notice how little space she takes up in the world, and somehow that makes her impossible to look away from. Every curve compact, deliberate, like something the earth shaped on purpose.

The wind moves across her skin before you get the chance to. You watch it lift her hair, trace her collarbone, and you understand exactly what the title means.