She pulls herself up by the roots

enfolds her radicle in moist compost, cocoons tendrils in cotton for the journey. In a could-be-place, she halts by a patch of bare ground, unwraps a couple of rootlets, one or two sprigs. New air passes over, under, through. She may try her taproot in a patch of loose soil, hover her shoot system for as long as it takes. This may be all she does here, quietly re-lifting, covering and closing the gap. If the soil happens to be quenched by just the right amount, the loam just so, she will plant herself. Wait it out in hope.