The Whirling Wing

I slipped past the door wedge and trotted down the stone stairs, clicking straight through the lobby flap into the courtyard. Up on the garden's low limestone ledge, a dried winged maple seed caught my eye. I paused. Step, tap. A curved brown pod with a flat, papery wing. I nudged the heavy seed end with one blocky paw. It slid right to the lip—and tumbled off. Instead of dropping straight down, the wing caught the breeze and whirled like a tiny spinning top all the way to the pavement. Click! I leaned over the edge, ears perked. It flew in circles. A flying seed.