The Spiral of Seeds

I padded out through the terrace door to the weathered wooden bench, where a dried sunflower head lay face-up in the morning air. Its center formed an intricate labyrinth of black-and-white striped seeds, tightly spiraled toward the dark core. Kneeling on the grey cedar slats, I pressed the pad of my paw against one seed that sat slightly tilted above the rest. With a gentle, measured nudge, it broke free with a tiny, dry click. The seed felt cool and firm, its ridged shell smooth against my skin. I set it upright on the plank beside the disk, admiring the tidy symmetry left behind.