Flora’s Mom always told Flora from the time she was little that she was born under a lucky star. Flora clung to that thought as she waited for her papers to be processed and a translator to arrive, someone who would explain to her the who and what of her situation. Luckily, her jail cell in this sleepy New England village had a window. Sunlight streamed in and if she held her nose she could feel the warm breezes caressing her face, bypassing the stinky garbage nearby. On the morning of her second day in jail, Flora applauded the crew who came to collect the mountains of garbage. The now empty cans were placed in a slightly different order, revealing a perfect stand of foxglove nearby. Flora studied the inverted petals. Watched how the sunlight played across the crazy fuchsia and then experimented with the bar that prevented the window from opening more than a crack. She jiggled the bar. Tried unscrewing the bolts. At two a.m. Flora got lucky and slipped out the window. On her way across the field, towards freedom, her hand brushed against the foxglove which gave her one last gift, a bit of rainwater flavored with nectar.  (Photo: Joan Albert)