A Fine Weather Vane

The clothespin clamped to the terracotta rim gave a solid pivot, but the midday breeze needed a lighter touch to read. In the mulch below, I found a dry, papery maple seed wing. Its stiff vein held straight, while the thin membrane curled just enough to catch a draft. Reaching upward with both hands, I set the thickened seed pod firmly into the split jaws of the wooden pin. The breeze from the fence line caught it immediately, swinging the pale wing in a steady half-circle. The air current now reports itself without a sound.