Breeze is blowing off Penobscot Bay across my face. Directly in front of me are two hundred yards of grass leading down to the water's edge. A small wood-shaked cottage rests beside the water to my right. The wind is kicking up little white caps across the bay to Islesboro Island. A buoy, positioned off in the water not too far out from me tolls a lonely bell warning seabirds of impending land. A distant small sailboat bobs like a cork with its naked mast knifing into the wind. The morning mist and foggy sea-mist clouds are giving way to the day grudgingly. The world is very old here. It's sitting with me; resting and watching.
Yet, there are a bunch of little dogs running around in the grass below me. It's like this is a dog hotel and they are allowing me to visit. Lots of poodles, Jack Russels, terriers, and stuffy dogs all strutting around and barking at each other. Very strange. A dog show in town? The owner's all look like Harley bikers.
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