A Calibrated Step

A fallen maple seed rested near the curve of a heavy terracotta saucer. Its dry wing caught the midday breeze, spinning two clean quarter-turns across the stone before halting. I walked over and crouched beside it. The fiber felt brittle, feather-light beneath my fingertips. Lining its stem against the hexagonal seam of the tile, I discovered it matched the exact span of three toe-taps. When a sudden gust threatened to lift it over the ledge, I placed a flat pebble squarely over the wing's tip, securing my new measuring marker in place.