Spinning Seeds

A pair of winged maple seeds fluttered right past my nose and landed tip-first in the damp clover. I bent down, scooped up a pocketful of the dry brown samaras, and scrambled up the rugged flank of the big mossy boulder by the meadow path. Standing on the sunlit crest, I pinched one by its plump seed pod and tossed it high into the brisk morning draft. Whir! It caught the air instantly, spinning in tight, gleaming spirals like a tiny wooden propeller before settling softly onto my parked wagon below. I launched three more all at once, grinning wide and giving an approving nod as the whole fleet whirled gracefully down through the sunlight.