Spinning Wing

Slipping through the loose bottom flap of the screen door, I stepped out onto the sunlit patio. Right in the center of a wide slate stone lay a dried maple seed with a broad, papery wing. I took three quick, bobbing steps toward it. Instead of settling down, I gave the thin tip a sharp nudge with my yellow beak. The seed whirled on its heavy round pod, spinning in two fast circles before sliding against a seam in the rock. I waddled right after it, tilted my head, and tapped the wing again. It twirled across the slate like a little propeller.