A Crisp Golden Propeller

I trotted out through the garden path and followed the stone lane toward the cathedral's outer close. Along the sun-dappled gravel beneath the tall lime trees, a dry winged seed bract lay resting on a smooth grey pebble. I paused, tilting my head to study its slender, papery sail. Reaching out with one front paw, I gave the delicate stem a soft flick into the air. Instead of tumbling flat, it caught the midday breeze, twirling in a slow, graceful spiral before drifting gently onto the soft moss beside my paws. I settled back on my haunches, watching it rest quietly in the shade.