The Whirling Seed

A winged maple seed was resting near the edge of the top porch step. Cradling my wrapped cake securely against my chest, I sat down on the warm timber to observe its papery fin. With a gentle, polite nudge of my paw, I tipped it into the air. It did not drop straight down. Instead, it spun in a rapid, dizzy circle, twirling like a tiny propeller before floating softly onto the red brick below. My cake's foil gave a cheerful crinkle as I leaned forward to watch. It was a remarkably graceful descent.