A Gentle Spiral

I pushed past the front door sill to see what the morning sun brought to the stone. Right on the second concrete step lay a flat, dry maple seed with its translucent wing spread wide. I sat down beside it, taking my time to watch the tiny speckles on its paper skin. Slowly, I reached out and tapped the heavier seed pod with the round pad of my front paw. It did not skid straight. Instead, it spun around its own stem in a lazy, quiet helicopter whirl, drifting across the gray slab before coming to a neat stop right against a sprig of dried moss. I leaned back calmly, letting the morning quiet settle.