The largest of the woodpeckers, the pileated, has now returned from the boreal forest to our own nearby woods and its peal of lunatic-sounding cries can be heard reverberating through the trees. We catch glimpses of one now and again on large old tree trunks, but never as close as years ago when one of the pileated simply sat where he was despite our close, admiring presence. They're a striking looking bird, primitive in appearance, with a bright red cap, their size notable. They're so large it's doubtful any other creatures would presume bother them and consequently they have no fear of anyone.

Another sound that used to be common in the woods and now only appears in the early spring and in the fall when birds are in transit, is that of the bluejay. Unlike the pileated, which will spend the winter in our forest, the bluejay is just passing through and won't stay long, but as long as he does we enjoy hearing its sharp, shrill call ring through the woods.

That fall is upon us is now undeniable. From the forest canopy to the forest floor, all the signs are there. On the forest floor, bracken drying, some turning yellow, soon to disappear and the floor is taking on a rather naked look as a result. On the other hand the deciduous trees are beginning -- even before a general colour change takes place when the tree's sap descends to its roots, no longer maintaining foliage -- to drop desiccated leaves, some that have turned bright colours, others simply dried up.

Fungal pop-ups in various complicated shapes and surprising colours provide another source of fall entertainment as we move through the trails, coming across their presence from time to time, marvelling at the diversity of them, from shelf fungi to mushrooms.

We've seen very few acorns from the oaks this year; perhaps it hasn't been a good year for acorns, but the hazelnuts that only a month ago seemed to be plentiful in number though not yet mature enough, are no longer hanging from the shrubs that bear them. In all likelihood many of them have been put away in some squirrel's pantry for the winter months' consumption. Pine cones, on the other hand, are plentiful this year, hanging like fall ornaments from the tops of the pines. Remnants of pine cones are scattered in neat little piles on top of tree stumps, on the trails, signalling where squirrels have busied themselves deconstructing the cones to reach the seeds within.

Jackie and Jillie, our twin puppies, take little note of such things, but they do focus on the feral apple trees in the ravine where, at certain ones where we know the fruit tends to be more sweet and juicy than at others, they stand and wait, their expectation that they'll be treated, more than obvious. They're rarely disappointed; though the thimbleberries are now less numerous as treats, the apples remain a reliable source to enliven our walks in the forested ravine; we haul down one for them and another for ourselves to nibble on, as long as they last.