A Spin in the Dirt

I pushed through the flap of the patio screen door and stepped out onto the breezy back porch. Right near the weathered garden bricks, a bright plastic pinwheel was stuck crooked in the dirt. I crept closer, crouched low on my soft boots, and tilted my head at its motionless rainbow blades. I raised one plush hand, giving a single fin an experimental flick. A sudden gust caught it right then, sending the whole wheel spinning in a furious, whirring blur. My jaw dropped in silent delight; I threw my hands out, leaned back on my heels, and rocked with a wide, toothy grin as the colors whipped around.