The Little Wind Mill

I walked over to the brass heating grille set flush into the floorboards, where a gentle upward current of warm air was whispering into the room. Beside the wall lay a fallen dry seed with two translucent, papery wings like a tiny maple key. I scooped it up carefully and set it right on the center slat. The upward draft caught the delicate blades immediately, making the seed spin in a blur of steady, quiet circles. I leaned forward on my knees, watching the little propeller hover and dance on the rising warmth.