A Spinning Wing

I found a dry, winged maple seed resting near the edge of the top stone step. Its papery fin was fragile and curved like a tiny crescent. My fingers gave an involuntary, nervous chime as I knelt down, so I pressed my left hand tightly against my ribs to stay steady. Terrified of slicing through the thin membrane, I held my breath and guided the blunt flat tip of my lowest right blade beneath its rounded bulb. With the gentlest upward nudge, I tipped it into the open air. It did not drop like a stone; it spun in dizzy, silent circles all the way down, landing whole upon the grass.