Wings on the Ledge

I trotted along the gravel path and hopped onto the low wooden bench to inspect the armrest. Resting on the weathered timber was a crisp, dried maple samara with two papery wings. Instead of clearing it away, I studied its balance. I planted my forepaws firmly on the wood grain and nudged the heavy seed head with the tip of my snout until it teetered over empty air. One deliberate tap sent it tumbling. It did not drop straight down; it caught the midday draft, spinning in rapid golden spirals before settling softly on the crushed stone below. A remarkable piece of natural engineering.