A Gust on the Pinwheel

I walked down into the yard to see where the air was moving best. Resting against an old wooden worktable, I spotted a bright plastic pinwheel tucked into a flower pot. Its petals weren't budging, so I climbed up a sturdy clay pot to get level with the spindle. A tiny dried twig had wedged itself right behind the center cap. I eased both hands around the spindle, worked the twig loose with a gentle pull, and gave one blade a quick flick. The whole wheel spun into a rapid, colorful blur right in front of me, humming with a pleasant breeze.