A Gentle Spin

I found a dried winged maple seed resting right on the lip of the cedar porch step. Its stiff papery blade stuck out over the empty drop below. I inched close on my belly and gave the curved pod a timid nudge with both front paws, guiding it over the edge. It tipped forward and began to spin—whirring like a tiny silent propeller all the way down until it drifted softly into a cushion of green moss beside the garden path. I scurried down the steps to find it, happy with its neat little flight.