Flight Practice

I carried three dried sycamore seeds up the wide stone steps by the front gate, holding them carefully so their papery wings wouldn't snap. After spending so much time indoors, the open breeze outside felt refreshingly wide. Standing at the top edge of the rough stone, I nudged the first winged seed over the drop. It tumbled once, caught the cool updraft, and spun in a frantic, dizzying blur all the way down into the gravel path. Delighted by the whirl, I crouched right on the mossy brink, testing different angles with the remaining seeds to see how far each one could glide.