He lies outstretched in the sun, glassy eyes watching the shadows of leaves flicker on the wall, faintly recalling the cold of last winter, penetrating beneath his skin as he huddled close to family against the back wall of the construction site. He wouldn't have made it out there on his own. We're informed he's half blind, cross eyed, schizophrenic, deaf, or maybe just a little confused. But still he stumbles to the door every time its opened. He wishes he could leap and pounce like his sister, run like her or remember like her. Maybe if his back legs were stronger or his instincts slightly sharper, he would have made it out that door by now. Maybe he would be able to climb up on the windowsill and watch the birds fly by. One day he runs to the door just in time. The brief escape window is elongated by a foot in the door and he finally sees the outside world, a fleeting vision of those long winter months brought back. His curiosity is satisfied and he finds a new interest. He now runs along the hall and watches the light grow orange against the wall. He realizes the value of warmth and comfort, of steady meals and love.