The Whirling Seed

I wriggled out of my warm knit cap and slipped beneath the screen door into the bright morning air. Resting on the weathered wooden riser was a dry, papery maple seed shaped like a tiny curved wing. I scooped the fragile stem between my fingers and hauled myself up to the top step. Balancing close to the edge, I lifted both hands high and let go. The seed caught the breeze, snapping into a frantic, dizzy twirl as it spiraled down in an amber blur. I pattered down the stairs as fast as my little feet could carry me, cooing softly as I scooped it back up to toss it again.