We've a gathering carpet of fallen leaves underfoot now, walking through our wooded ravine, with the canopy overhead shrinking by the day.  At close range the trees don't present a variety of colours as the leaves turn, but underfoot there is red, orange, yellow and lime green aplenty.  This is one of those rare times of year that brings out the curiosity and latent nature-attraction in many people who would not ordinarily traverse through the trails in the ravine.

So we see people whom we have never before seen; couples and those with young families.  And among them another part of the community that chooses to segregate itself from the greater community of which we are all an integral portion.  French-Canadians tend to be insular, blinkered to the others in their midst, and resentfully blind to the presence of anglophones, English-speaking Canadians.

Say a cheery "hello", or a blithe "hi!" in expectations that a simple acknowledgement of one's common humanity will ensue, and you will be, in 80% of instances, disappointed at the reaction of francophones.  Eyes straight ahead or averted they hurry past, behaving as though another human being who greets them in English and not French, is no more notable than a falling leaf; studiously ignored.

They are, of course, completely bilingual.  They are drawn to the nation's capital, leaving their home province of Quebec because of the allure of well-compensated government jobs.  Working for government they are secure and well employed and they gravitate to enclaves of others like themselves, inuring themselves to the presence of 'les autres', sending their children to French schools, having as little contact with non-francophones as possible.

Those whom we recognize as acquaintances, and others whom we have known for years as devoted ravine walkers are all abuzz about the Thanksgiving holiday, pausing to ask whether you are prepared, plan to set your table with the traditional Thanksgiving meal.