The Golden Maple Wing

I poked my nose out from the canvas nail pouch into the morning air. Right outside the open doorway, resting flat on the gravel path, was a bright golden maple seed. I paused two paw-lengths back... and tilted my head. A gentle breeze touched its papery propeller. Slowly, I took two quiet steps forward and tapped the swollen pod end with my dark front paw. It spun around in a crisp half-circle with a dry rustle, catching the morning sun against the gray stones. I tucked my front paws beneath my chest and rested my chin down on the weathered wooden sill, quietly watching the breeze lift its golden tail.