A Winged Seed

I slipped across the smooth floor toward the sunny corner by the balcony glass. Right against the base of a heavy terracotta planter, tucked into the shadow of the skirting board, rested a dried maple seed with a delicate, papery wing. I stopped and tilted my head, studying the pale veins running along its curve. Reaching out with my front paw, I nudged the tip just slightly. It spun on the polished wood with a light, crisp rasp and came to a quiet stop right beside my foot. The world outside seems to leave wonderful little clues behind.