Clear Route

I hopped down from the sill and stepped out through the front gate onto the neighborhood sidewalk. Too much sitting still. Ahead, on the grey concrete curb, a fallen dry maple seed pod lay pinned beneath a stray plastic straw. A blockage. I did not take a detour. I marched straight up, four leaf feet slapping the warm pavement with steady thuds. Stalk locked. I slid the circular rim of my snout under the plastic straw and gave one clean upward heave. The straw flicked away into the gutter. The pod spun free, catching the afternoon wind down the concrete groove. Way open.