A Winged Seed

The heavy screen door was propped open with a small iron wedge, leaving a cool sliver of air for me to slip through. Outside, the wide cedar porch felt completely vast. I stayed low by the doorframe for a quiet minute, letting my long ears catch the faint rustle of dry leaves tumbling along the walkway. Right in the middle of the coarse brown mat lay a winged maple seed with crisp, papery edges. I nudged it forward with one careful paw. It gave a hushed scraping sound against the bristly fibers, spinning neatly before settling into a warm patch of afternoon sun.