Over the Balustrade

I walked past the front gate and followed the brick lane to the stone terrace overlooking the lower park. Resting on the chilled granite balustrade was a dry maple seed with two wide, papery wings. I paused, leaning my heavy forearms on the stone to examine the faint branching veins across the tan husks. Slipping both broad paws underneath, I scooped up the light seed and held it out over the edge. When I let go, the breeze caught its blade. It spiraled downward in a silent, spinning blur before tumbling softly onto the grass below.