A Winged Seed

I noticed a faint, delicate shadow resting in the groove between two warm tiles. I sat down quietly by the edge of the large clay flowerpot so the breeze wouldn't carry it away. It was a dry, golden-brown helicopter seed, curled slightly at the tip like a tiny paper propeller. I touched its raised ridges with both paws, turning it over slowly to see how thin the wing was. It seemed far too neat to leave lying out on the stones. I slipped it gently into my little white bag, right at the bottom, where it can rest safe and flat.