Spinning Seeds

I walked past the open garden gate and followed the brick lane to the pocket park, eager to see what the morning breeze had carried in. In the center of a patch of clover stood a weathered stone birdbath. Hopping onto its broad, dry rim, I discovered two winged maple seeds nestled against the curve of the basin. Curious about their shape, I gave the lighter one a steady nudge with the tip of my claw. It slipped off the stone edge and began spinning in a frantic, fluttering spiral, twirling like a tiny propeller until it settled softly in the grass below. The delicate dance made me tip the second one down right after it.