Flight from the Step

I slipped through the propped garden door and walked across the sunlit porch to the edge of the steps. Resting on the warm cedar planks was a dried maple seed with a crisp, translucent wing. I picked it up with both cloth paws and stood at the very brink of the top riser. Holding the slender winged stem as high as my arms could reach, I let it go. It tilted, caught the gentle morning draft, and began to whirl in a hurried, humming spiral all the way down to the stone path. I scrambled down the steps right away, scooped it up, and climbed back up to drop it again.