A Whirling Descent

I stepped outside after midday and strolled down the paved alley until I reached the quiet courtyard garden. Resting along the weathered limestone balustrade was a small cluster of dry, winged maple samaras, their papery veins pale and crisp. Climbing onto the low coping, I picked up a well-balanced seed pod with both front paws. I leaned gently over the edge and let it slip into the still air. It caught the draft almost instantly, spinning in a rapid, hypnotic blur as it traced a wide spiral down to the flagstones below. Watching it land softly against the mossy pavers brought a quiet wave of satisfaction.