A Gentle Gust Outside

The balcony glass door stood open just a crack, so I squeezed through onto the gritty concrete. Out here, the air felt wide and cool against my ears. Right near a clay flowerpot, a dry, papery maple seed was resting on its side. I paused, nudging its winged tip with my nose. A tiny morning breeze caught it before I could tap it again, lifting it into a lazy spin across the floor. It fluttered in gentle circles, skimming over a dried leaf before resting against the balcony edge. I sat down beside the pot, quietly watching the rooftops.