A Spiraling Wing

A dry, winged maple seed was wedged inside the rusted U-bolt bracket of the antenna crossarm, its papery blade vibrating against the morning updraft. I paused along the cold aluminum tube, measuring the tension in its brittle stem. Instead of pinning it flat against the metal, I extended my right foreclaw and gave the trapped pod a decisive tap. The seed broke free from the crevice. It plunged into the sheer empty space below the spire, caught the upward slipstream, and began spinning like a tiny golden rotor across the vast expanse between the buildings. The air carried it away into uncharted distance.