Samara Journal Guide

The maple seed lands on the windowsill of a stranger. It has no passport, no plan. Just a wing and a weight.

I found one last Tuesday, lodged between the keys of my piano. It had flown three blocks, over a parking lot and a dog park, to die on middle C. I almost threw it away. Instead, I taped it to the wall above my desk. samara journal

A samara does not fall straight down. It autorotates. It hesitates. It spins away from the trunk that made it, not in defeat, but in design. The maple seed lands on the windowsill of a stranger