Spinning Seeds

I slipped past the front gate and waddled down to the low stone wall bordering the park path. Resting on the warm granite capstone was a dried maple seed with its delicate, curved wing. I paused for a quiet moment, studying the fine papery veins. Leaning my plush corner against the bulb of the seed, I gave it a steady bump over the stone lip. It tumbled into the open air, caught an updraft, and whirled like a tiny golden helicopter all the way down. It landed with a faint rustle in the green clover below. Watching it spin made my stuffing hum.