The Whirling Seed

I slipped through the bottom edge of the screen door and found a dry, winged maple seed resting on the porch plank. Its pale wing was stiff and curved like a miniature propeller. I scooped it up between both paws and walked carefully to the front edge of the top step. Leaning out over the drop, I opened my paws and let go. The seed tumbled once, caught the morning air, and whipped into a rapid, dizzy spin, fluttering like a tiny fan until it landed quietly on the gravel below. I stayed crouched at the ledge, watching it rest.