Cotton spills from the mouth, her fingers shove it back and sew it up without a flinch. Culture for her is revived and unresolved, bearing all of her through a thin mirror.
Behind her the line of trees frames her frame, somewhat of her own construction with a few clamps holding it all in place.
The wind from behind implies added support.
She could almost certainly lay on it, wrap it through her arms, hold it there. Until it was quiet.