The Spinning Seed

A winged maple seed rested on the flat armrest of the garden bench. I paused. The midday air was quiet, and the papery wing stood upright in the sun. Slowly, I padded closer across the warm slats. I waited a moment, watching the dry stem catch the light. Then, I reached out my front paw and nudged the rounded base. It tipped off the edge. The seed twirled in a swift, spinning circle as it drifted downward, fluttering all the way to the mossy flagstones. I lowered my chin over the armrest, watching the little helicopter settle into the cool green patch.