It's become a ritual again, lingering in front of the door as we come downstairs for breakfast and repeating that still contemplative moment or two when we trek up to bed in the evening. In the morning the sun sparkles off the foliage of our many trees at the front of the house, and picks out the bright colours of the flowers flinging themselves at the sun's face. In the evening there is still light, cast by the outdoor lanterns on their posts in the garden, and the colours, vastly muted, still wave to us, wishing us a good night.

 

Without the cooperation of a glass door that would all be lost to us. For many years our front door was a solid shield between us and the garden, until Irving one day bought a glass insert and carved out the door to fit the glass into it. He did the same with the side door, emitting more light into the house and granting us the unlimited opportunity to view the world around us from the comfort of our house.

 

Glancing through the front door from time to time, we see an increasing number of birds, bees and butterflies enjoying the garden as much as we do. And on occasion, in the evening, before and after dusk has fallen, we see movements in the trees and on the ground. Sometimes we can identify the creatures involved, from chipmunks to rabbits and mice. We know there are also rats and snakes making their home in hidden, relatively undisturbed areas of the garden as well. It's an invitation to wildlife and we don't begrudge them that.

 

It's just as well these days of deep heat that keep most people indoors in their air-conditioned homes, that there is also the presence of wind to match the rays of the sun. The sun bakes us, the wind, wafting a cooling draft, offers fleeting relief when we're outside. There's work to be done in the garden, some of which can wait, and other things that beg to be done.

 

We decided on a bit of an earlier walk through the ravine's trails than usual today since it's Saturday and as such is our 'day of leisure'. As usual, Jackie and Jillie were in complete accord, anxious to be out and sniffing about. There's an amazing measure of temperature relief the minute we step under the forest canopy. This is the kind of wind that penetrates the forest and it follows us for the most part, as we descend into the ravine, but for brief periods when we're unprotected and the sun is directly on us.

 

We come across daisies, and fleabane in bloom, as well as newly-blooming milkweed and Queen Anne's lace; for everything there is a time and a season, and now the most colourful of all wildflowers, Black-Eyed Susans are also in bloom, and they've spread enormously throughout the pollinating garden, making a home for themselves on either side of the creek bisecting the ravine. Even the thistles are beginning to bloom.

 

 

Despite heavy thunderstorms that erupted last week, the forest is thirsty again. It awaits the sky opening up to drench the woodlands that had not so long ago struggled to accommodate more rain than the soil and Leda clay could absorb. Now, dry cracks are beginning to emerge again in the soil of the forest floor. We appreciate the rains when they fall heavily overnight to relieve us of the need to water the gardens as well.

 

 

On our return back home, I remained outdoors for a while, to cut back spent blooms and unruly growth on trees and shrubs, then sweeping up the endless detritus that falls from the trees surrounding the gardens. And then it was time to water the gardens and the garden pots. By then everything was mostly in the shade of the house thanks to the sun's trajectory in the sky in the waning hours of the afternoon.