Irving was up first. I cocked an eye at my bedside clock-radio and turned back over: 7:30 a.m. He just went on, preparing to dress. We had discussed it last night, the day before as well and decided it made sense. We're back to where we were last winter, getting up earlier than we want to, so we can slip out of the house and get our shopping for groceries done before breakfast, just around when the stores open for business.

To avoid the usual crush of shoppers. Bypassing the opportunity for Omicron to victimize us. Last winter most of the supermarkets had announced special morning hours for seniors, from 8:00 to 9:00 a.m. Giving us oldies a break. No such announcements have yet been made; this was before the advent of vaccines, when suddenly the globe was assailed by a hugely infectious virus that little was known about.

Science still doesn't know much about the SARS-CoV-2 virus that causes COVID-19, but the public does have some defences now that weren't available in the first shocking months of its spread, causing havoc, serious illnesses in many and deaths, mostly in elderly populations. We enjoyed a much-needed break during the intervening summer months. We almost felt as though we had returned to life as we know it; all the while the reality of a still-lethal virus hovering in the background.

And then the mutations began here and there, mostly none of any particular note, but some emerging that the World Health Organization considered to be 'strains of concern'. Delta cut a wide swath through hospital admissions and funeral homes and we thought we were facing the worst possible scenario. Until Omicron was identified in South Africa. It took no time at all for that variant to enter Canada and begin proliferating to the point where about 80% of new cases are being identified as Omicron.

It has proven particularly adept at atmospheric infectiousness; its minuscule globular particles drifting through the atmosphere. Ventilation is now more critical than ever before. Getting in and out of enclosed spaces as quickly as feasible, avoiding them if possible, wearing masks, maintaining distancing; we're back to all of that. And for us, back to early morning shopping.

Jackie and Jillie needed no explanation. They're pretty intuitive; they knew immediately we got out of bed something was different. And it took no time at all that they realized they were being left at home alone and we were leaving. Their piteous howling and mewling followed us out the door.

And when we arrived at the supermarket, never all that crowded at the best of times and these aren't the best of times, we discovered to our mild surprise that we weren't the only ones determined to return to an old defensive posture. There were plenty of people in the store, shopping. Mostly older people. They were short cashiers; not everyone has taken to the express do-it-yourself cash-outs. It would take us forever to get all our purchases punched in.

So it was done, we returned home to a pair of joyous little pooches, gave them treats, took our showers, prepared breakfast and everyone relaxed. And then we went out to the ravine for our usual daily hike through the forest. The thermometer read -2.2C, and there was no wind to speak of, but we had missed the sun which had decided to duck back in behind a vast silvery cloud cover for the remainder of the day. Jackie and Jillie were beside themselves with happiness, glad to be out in the snow zipping along the forest trails.

We had the trails, in fact, pretty much to ourselves. And we were surprised at how cold it seemed despite the mild temperature on this first official calendar day of winter. Because it felt so damp which always translates into feeling colder. There's only a few more days to Christmas, so everyone, we assume, who celebrates the day must be frantically shopping. We've already seen advertisements for Boxing Day, before Christmas even has arrived. It's a frenzy we're glad not to be part of.

The increase in new COVID cases is alarming, steadily creeping upward again, and the region's top medical officer of health is warning us that we're facing too much social exposure, expanding our 'bubbles' carelessly, leaving ourselves open to a catastrophic increase in cases which, once gaining ground will be difficult to stop. It's sobering, to say the least. In this new world of ours a nagging awareness of the novel coronavirus as a predatory killer no one is immune from, reflects our new reality. That gnawing feeling of vulnerability makes us feel anxious at a low level of awareness, but never far from our consciousness.

We had slightly relaxed the rigidity of our response, willing to venture out with a little less concern, over the past summer months in response to the news from health authorities that case numbers were steadily declining, hospitals were in good shape, more testing was being done, and on balance the area appeared to be dealing quite well with the epidemic. And then we became aware that people were waiting an average of four to six hours in line, waiting to be tested. That cases were on a steady increase.

So we decided to return to early morning food shopping expeditions when few other people would be out shopping for their groceries. When we arrived at the supermarket this morning it was half-past eight, we hadn't rushed ourselves, but did adjust our priorities. And were rewarded by the sight of very few people browsing the aisles. The number of shoppers steadily increased over the next hour but only marginally; there was no problem maintaining distance.

After breakfast my husband went out with a pail of hot soapy water to wash down the exterior window sills. He inspected the paint, and felt he could do a little touch-up to restore the frames to peak paint condition. I cleaned the bathrooms and set about preparing cheese-filled blini for dinner tonight because my husband opted for something light. And that's because it has turned into a sublime weather day of 24C and sunny; back to summer when we'd thought we had seen the last of the summer of 2020.

When we headed out to the ravine for our daily walkabout with Jackie and Jillie through the forest trails the sun was warm on our backs, the breeze moved about warm air, a perfectly beautiful day. We had at least half of our hour-and-a-half jaunt through the forest trails to ourselves, before beginning to come abreast of others doing the same. Before we'd ascended into the ravine a middle-aged couple had bicycled to the top of the first hill. Their bikes had big fat tires meant for rough terrain. And one of the bikes had a basket, and in it a very small dog sat regally and quite comfortably set for a ride.

They stopped in dismay at the top of the hill leading into the forest and turned their bicycles around. They explained that they thought the trails would be paved. Um yes, paved. But they were cheerful enough over their disappointment when my husband suggested an alternate route some distance off that might be partially paved. We came across others on bicycles, a father with two young boys and they had no unrealistic expectations of the terrain of a natural forest.

Down at the creek where the sides were reinforced with large granite rocks, after a  hillside slump a few years back, a young family was poking about on the creek banks. The mother had seated herself on one of the larger flat-surfaced rocks, while the father, a boy and a girl around 7 and 8, poked about on the rocks close to the creek. The girl stumbled and fell, hurting herself, the father picked her up and carried her up the embankment and her tremulous voice carried over to us as we continued on our way metaphorically shaking our heads.

 e were on our way to the meadow to see how the wildflowers were faring there. The Black-eyed Susans are still in bright evidence, their succession appearance not quite ready yet to slow down. We even saw a small clump of wonky-looking daisies, long after their bloom period in early summer had passed. 

The Himalayan orchids are still going strong, with successive blooming on the areas they have colonized just bordering on the forest, marching down the hillside that was once heavily forested before that slump when everything on the hill had fallen into the ravine after heavy spring rains, blocking up the creek until remedial work was begun. a massive reclamation project undertaken by the municipality that took almost two years to complete.

I remained sitting in the car, waiting for my husband who had gone briefly into the pet food store to bring back a large bag of the kibble that Jackie and Jillie eat. And as I sat there for those few minutes it wasn't possible to ignore the number of people who have become truly obese. Not merely overweight, but weighted by excess fat to the extent that they cannot walk normally, have difficulty exiting a vehicle, seem awkward in their gait and movement, and I was reminded of an article I read in the newspaper recently.

Referring to data that Kaiser Permanente in the U.S., had gathered using statistics gained from their own clients. Using 6,016 patients' health characteristics to come up with an answer that researchers were looking for; did, and how much did obesity affect the infection rate of SARS-CoV-2 virus in the general population? They produced a research paper published in the Annals of Internal Medicine, a peer-reviewed journal, concluding that those in the 40--44 BMI range have a 168 percent chance of contracting COVID-19 over what a person whose weight falls within a normal range, would have. 

If I were obese I would find that extreme vulnerability beyond worrying. On the other hand, since I'm approaching my mid-80s, I also fall into the extreme vulnerability range of contracting COVID, so there's that reality. And though I'm concerned, I'm far from obsessing about it, just taking what can only be construed of these days as sensible precautions. And in all likelihood, so too are the heavily overweight and obese.

We had decided to do our food shopping at a more leisurely time of day rather than wake up early and trot right out to the supermarket before the rush of shoppers. Reason was that we didn't need to do a full shopping and wouldn't be long in the store. And so, instead of rushing out to shop for our groceries first thing in the morning, we took our time and went out to the ravine as usual with Jackie and Jillie for our early morning tramp through the forest trails.

Where we're noticing a little bit of an acceleration of poplar leaves turning colour and falling to the ground. The colours they turn are not those of fall necessarily, which tend to be mostly yellows tinged with orange. These early-season head-starters are pink and yellow, with tinges of bright green. Hard not to notice them lying on the forest floor; they're show-offs, clamouring to be seen and admired.

We were a tad earlier than usual, so we were a little surprised to see quite a few others out at that hour, then we remembered that this afternoon, though destined not to be as hot as usual, would host thunderstorms. Much as yesterday afternoon had. And once again it had rained through the night. So, though the sky still had plenty of iffy clouds, there was also some blue, and we felt confident enough we wouldn't be caught out in a rainstorm.

We're still puzzled over the lack of apples from the usually burdened wild apple trees. So we were delighted to find one small red apple nestled between foliage that almost hid its presence. It was smaller than the leaves surrounding it. And since it appeared to be sufficiently ripe, my husband knocked against the branch holding it with a long-dead branch he had plucked from the forest floor and it came into our possession, demanding immediate attention from Jackie and Jillie. Both of whom enjoyed it tremendously, given small bites, dividing it between them.

A lovely haul through the forest trails, where on several occasions the sun emerged behind the clouds for prolonged visits, illuminating the landscape beautifully. When we arrived back home we showered, breakfasted, cleared away the dishes, and went out to do our shopping. By then the sky had turned about as dark as it possibly could with banks of charcoal-grey clouds moving through the sky and rain falling steadily. It wasn't until our shopping was done, we returned home and awarded treats to Jackie and Jillie that the first of the thunderstorms struck. 

In spring, long after frost has released the garden soil and the sun and rain has warmed and comforted it, it's ready to be worked; friable and obedient to fork and spade. Any eager weeds that have come up are easily removed. And the garden soil seems to want to tempt the gardener to get on with things. Nothing quite speaks to the dedicated gardener anxious to get out and begin clearing away winter organic detritus, coddling the perennials eager to present themselves, and entertain thoughts of annual planting, like the weather that has finally arrived with its sweet breezes, warm temperatures and brilliant sun.

And if anyone needs to have their appetite for gardening whetted, there's nothing quite like a stroll of inspection through whatever is emerging from the garden beds and borders. Like tulips, hyacinths, scilla, lilies and irises, anemones, bergenia and more. Their presence is always a surprise. We know they're there, that they're faithful to spring, that their pop-up presence seems overnight, that their sparkling, bright colours are breathtaking, but we never take them for granted.

Early this morning my husband set out to acquire bags of garden soil, firm in the belief that the early hour would mean a sparcity of others with like intentions at garden centres. That reasoning was soon abused. There are a number of garden centres in close proximity to one another and at each one there was a long, looonng line-up to be enabled to enter. My husband isn't fond of line-ups for anything, at any time.

And then there's serendipity. On his arrival back home he noticed one of our good neighbours out on his front lawn, supervising a crew of workmen who were repairing his lamppost, knocked over when an overzealous winter snow-clearing tractor driver was in too much of a hurry. During their conversation my husband mentioned what he'd been up, and our neighbour informed him that he had 21 bags of soil in his garage which he had no intention of using. A simple commercial exchange took place and now my husband has the wherewithal to fill all of our many garden pots. He already has the sheep manure and the peat moss he needs, bags of it, left over from last year.

Then we went off for our ravine walk with Jackie and Jillie. Warmer than yesterday by far, and with full sun leavened by a temperate wind, the weather was sheer perfection. Surprisingly, we encountered only a scant few people out on the trails. They must have been in line at the garden centers. We heard the bell-like but piercing call of bluejays. There was a time when we'd often see and hear bluejays when we lived in the Toronto area of southern Ontario, here in Eastern Ontario we hear and see them only in spring and occasionally in fall, on the move, passing through.

Before we left the ravine circuit we had chosen for the day, we made a bit of a side trip down one of the hillsides to see if any of the rare (in this area) white trilliums had yet fully opened. And though the plants of the white trilliums are only just beginning to establish their blooms, and they're in scant numbers in the woodland ravine, there was a small clump and some singles fully opened, the flower heads proudly raised to the sun, not shy and downcast like the red trilliums that are far more numerous.

After we returned home, because it was yet quite early in the afternoon we decided to take a drive over to a near-distant, more bucolic gardening centre, family owned and in operation for many years. They have a large footstep in the area where they operate, and there is a lot of room for people to wander about as they select their choices of plants, annuals, perennials, trees, shrubs, rocks, gravel, soil, quite an established operation. Of course anywhere one goes the requirement is to wear face masks and gloves.

However, unlike the place we had visited yesterday, also a family enterprise, on the opposite end of the city which had people walking through their greenhouses, this one, though it has wide open spaces for people to meander about, offered curbside pickup with online ordering only. And so, sadly, we drove home without the many colourful flats of annuals we had intended to take possession of. Just in case ... we drove over to a handful of other centers, commercialized in a different way, large seasonal operations, attached to large box stores. All had closed direct entry to their gardening centres, to have people enter their building premises first and then be permitted into their garden centres. Baffling. And the line-ups for entry were each a block long.

Home we went again. And found, each of us, plenty to do in the gardens, mostly cleaning up, cutting back trees and shrubbery, feeling the sun on our backs, taking out shears and long-handled cutters, re-acquainting ourselves with gardening as we know it, in preparation for the summer of 2020. Shopping for all the flower flats we anticipate using will have to wait, until the general public is satisfied they have all they wanted, and the opportunity will arrive for us to revel in row upon row of annual flowers prepared to do their best to entertain and beautify our surroundings for another year.