The Spinning Wing

A dry, papery maple seed had landed flat across the sun-warmed red bricks. I tucked my pink bone firmly under one arm and paused, leaning down to inspect its delicate, veined wing. With a cautious breath, I reached out a front paw and tapped the round seed pod. Instead of sliding straight ahead, it caught a tiny noon draft, whirring in a lazy, silent circle across the mossy mortar before settling near a dandelion sprout. I tiptoed after it and nudged it softly with my nose, enchanted by how something so dry and light could spin.