Low expectations

We drove up to Owls Head last night (probably a first, driving north on a Sunday night) for a few days of what was forecast to be dismal weather: rain, wind, 40s, floods. Not to worry, we told ourselves, we'll read and write and rest.

The dog's expectations were slightly higher, if only because we had abandoned her for a couple of hours so we could hear a piano concert at the Weston Library, and she had nowhere to go but up. In the car she did seem somewhat less neurotic; her trembling and bad-breath panting lasted less than the usual hour, and (another first), having survived the terrors of Portland she actually volunteered to go into her bed in the back seat, until we reached Brunswick 10 minutes later and had to slow down, and she felt obligated to reclaim the safety of the passenger's lap just in case the back seat suddenly and horribly disgorged her into the grooming shop.

We all should have had more faith. Mia was rewarded by the sight of two young deer standing by the side of Canns Beach Road as we drove in, and she growled as if to say, "See, there really is something out there." We were rewarded this morning by a crystal-clear sunrise and a lovely blue morning. The high had waited for us to arrive.