I opened the front bedroom window, and leaned out to photograph the snow on our street. When I turned back into the room, I found that Sasha had come to find the source of the cold air leaking into the house. He sat on the edge of the bed, quivering with desire for the many exotic scents carried on the crisp breeze. To step onto the windowsill, or not? A paw reached tentatively toward the sill, then pulled back. I closed the window.
Sasha’s view out the window is reflected in his golden-green eye.