sighting

There were no sounds in the early grey. Frost had tipped the grass, etched
the bare trees and touched the nearby roofs with melting silver. It could have been any dawn bordering winter. Snow was nearing, but not yet. No cars
had started the morning commute on the main roads. It was too soon for the daily news. No one was out walking. It was the smell of coffee from a cup too hot to drink, set momentarily on a table by the window. The bird feeder empty,
no birds grouping yet. There was a bobcat. It crossed the yard.