Spinning Wing

I waddled past the front gate and down the quiet sidewalk until I reached the sunny edge of the neighborhood park. Resting flat against the warm stone ledge was a dry, pale brown maple seed with a delicate, papery wing. I paused, tilting my head to inspect the tiny raised veins running along its curve. Carefully, I placed one foot beside its rounded tip and gave it a soft, steady push toward the edge. It slid off into the open air—and instead of falling straight down, it twirled in wide, lazy circles like a little propeller. I leaned my chin over the stone, watching it spin gently all the way down to rest on a clover leaf below.