We saw the loon yesterday afternoon, and watched a gorgeous sunset over the mountains from the end of our dock. After a grey-ish day, the sky grew progressively clearer, and sundown was spectacular.
Walked over to the neighbours' to chat for a bit on their dock, exchanging news and admiring a just completed home improvement/landscaping project. The view over there, beside the cove, isn't quite the same as ours, and I always enjoy the different perspective of mountains and water. Ruth enjoyed making new friends.
Later, after dark, I spied an array of fireworks shooting up high, on the other side of the mountain. Not sure why, but it was great entertainment.
Watched Iconolasts on the Travel Channel (it was originally produced for the Sundance Channel.) Italian Chef Mario Batali was hanging out with his chum Michael Stipe of R.E.M. Since certain members of R.E.M. and I go way back, it was a must-see for me. Loved the end, where the two of them were like total groupies backstage at a U2 show in Toronto.
Ruth and I headed to our respective beds and soon were slumbering sweetly. As it started to get light, the wee dog suddenly hopped up from her nest did something she'd never done before.
She growled.
And she barked.
She was terrified.
I fumbled for my specs and the flashlight. Had a raccoon broken into the house? Was there a mouse sitting on the dresser? Might it be a bat? (I was actually hoping...you know how I am about bats!)
She continued her freak-out, and was freaking me out with her brave effort to warn me about impending attack from--what? That rusty bark of hers was bizarre. I almost laughed at her.
I ran that torch over every inch of the room. I peered under bed, even though she was clearly fixated on the corner of the room.
Nothing.
Well, almost nothing. My trusty LLBean brown duffel was sitting on the chair, with some clothing stacked on top. It always comes with me to the cottage, stuffed with books and cds and notepads, and lots of knickers. I don't bring many garments along, having plenty here, but I carry them back to the Lodge for laundering.
In the dim light, the dark mass of duffel and clothing looked like a dangerous deadly beast to a small and nervous little dog.
Grabbing the duffel, I placed it on the side of the bed usually occupied by my spouse when he's here.
I had conquered The Beast. Ruth fell silent. She returned to her nest, curled up, and went to sleep.
I, however, couldn't. It was 5 a.m., the hour when birdies large and small start up their chorus. Shrieking phoebes, trilling goldfinches, screeching jays, cawing blackbirds--even the hummingbirds were zipping about on the other side of the windowscreen, fighting for the perch at their feeder.
And then I heard a motorboat in the Bay. Somebody tell me, who needs to be out there boating at 5 a.m.? That's just not natural, or necessary. It wasn't any fishing boat, that much I know. I'll cut the fishermen some slack. But the ones who troll in our waters are virtually silent. Their launch cruises the shoreline, powered by a whispering little egg-beater motor. I usually see them before I hear them.
I turned on the radio, hoping it would lull me to sleep. It did, eventually, but not till I'd listened to the hour-long early morning BBC newscast.
We're heading off for our walk in a little while. No big plans for the day, besides readin', writin', hangin' out on the dock, swimmin' and watchin' England v. Ecuador in the World Cup.
I'd originally planned to head back to the Lodge yesterday but decided on tomorrow instead. The clean knickers collection and my supplies of fresh food (and dog chow) permitted us to extend our stay.
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