Since I am allergic to lobster, and don't like blueberries, I was looking forward to seeing a live moose. Even though I'd lived here for awhile, the only moose I had seen was stretched out on a trailer behind some hunter's truck on I-95.
A couple of weeks ago, I left my house at 5 am to drive up to Presque Isle, the other end of the state, for a meeting at 10:00. The day ran long, and I was tired while driving back at dusk. Unusual motion ahead of me caught my eye, but I didn't register what I was seeing enough to really slow the car. The moose came up quickly from the left embankment: head first, massive shoulders rising, moving into the highway, where it slowed to plod across the pavement. I hit the brakes hard, and hoped that space, time and angels were on my side.
As it went by, it didn't look like a deer or a horse, but a centaur. Once it reached the grass on the other side, it galloped up to the treeline. Finally, I thought, I've seen a moose. Or a centaur. I pulled up my phone and snapped a picture for verification. Despite the photo, I still wasn't sure. My uncertainty convinced me that I was done driving for the day and should spend the night in Bangor. So the above picture is of a moose - or of a centaur.You decide - it's all possible in the wilds of Maine.