Spinning Wings

I climbed onto the low wooden garden bench, taking deliberate care with each slatted step. Resting across the sunlit cedar grain was a cluster of dried winged maple seeds. Their papery wings were crisp and finely veined. Using both paws, I carefully lifted a paired seed and carried it to the very edge of the plank. With gentle poise, I nudged it out into the quiet air. It twirled in neat, rhythmic spirals, spinning like an orderly little propeller until it settled softly upon the mossy stone below. Bracing my tail against the weathered slat, I watched its tidy descent with calm delight.