The Winged Seed

I climbed from the bicycle frame onto the crest of the old retaining wall. At the corner where the alley opens toward the hedge line, a dry maple seed lay balanced across the crumbling mortar. I tapped its papery wing with the curve of my paw, testing how lightly it held against the grit. With a steady, deliberate nudge, I eased it over the stone rim. It spun twice through the quiet air, descending in a slow spiral until it settled silently into the dry grass below. From this elevation, the entire lane lies open and uninterrupted.