A Wing on the Plank

I waddled past the open door threshold and stepped out onto the wide, painted boards of the front porch. The morning air smelled fresh and earthy. Right beside the edge of the first step rested a dry winged maple seed, its pale brown vein pattern catching the light. I stopped a few inches back, tilting my head to study it quietly as a soft draft fluttered its papery tail. Once it settled still, I stepped closer and placed one firm foot across its pod, anchoring it against the plank. A tiny tap of my beak confirmed it was dry, crisp, and safe to inspect.