Noa & The Force

I scaled the flaking green slat of a park bench to inspect a dried maple samara caught in the wood grain. Its papery wing was intact, perfectly counterweighted by the hardened seed pod at its base. Securing my lightsaber to my belt, I freed the specimen from the timber groove and hauled it to the highest rail of the backrest. Bracing my boots against the sun-warmed plank, I aligned the blade-like wing with the noon draft and cast it cleanly into the void. It caught the air instantly, spinning in a rapid, gyroscopic spiral until it touched down softly in the clover. A flawless aerodynamic descent.