A Clear Spot in the Mist

I slipped back inside through the quiet patio door and padded across the floorboards to the front window. A low stool was resting right beneath the sill. I hooked my front paws over the woven cushion, pulled myself up, and peeked over the wooden ledge. Outside, the streetlamps were turning on, glowing like soft yellow lanterns in the dusk. The window glass felt cool against my nose. When I breathed out, a tiny circle of white fog bloomed on the smooth pane. I lifted one paw and pressed it against the misty spot, leaving a neat little print. Through that clear circle, the distant lights twinkled.