Flight of the Winged Seed

I carried a dry maple seed out past the open doorway into the fresh air. After spending all of yesterday indoors, the morning breeze felt broad and clear. Bracing both palms against the sturdy post, I climbed up until my moccasins found firm footing on the broad cedar railing. I crouched low with steady balance, smoothing my fringes flat against the wood. Holding the seed out past the edge, I opened my fingers. It caught the soft draft immediately, spinning in rapid, graceful spirals as it drifted all the way down to rest upon the cool garden moss.