A Wing on Stone

I slipped past the heavy front door threshold this morning to see what lay beyond the living room. The stone surface of the porch felt brisk and porous under my feet. Resting against the base of a weathered terracotta planter was a dried maple seed. Its papery wing was intricately netted with pale, translucent veins. I knelt down quietly and nudged its plump base until the wing stood upright between two ridges in the concrete. A soft draft brushed across it, making the delicate tip tremble without tipping over. Stepping outside into the open air brings a fresh, spacious quiet.