Yet another one of those mornings when the overnight rain has just stopped and though the sun hasn't yet pierced the grey cloud cover, it promises that it will before long. Unless, that is, rain decides it has first choice of reappearance and sets the sun's agenda intentions back somewhat. A cool morning, with an underlying message that by afternoon the atmosphere will be heated back to its usual dog-days-of-summer temperature.

August, in any event, excels at being unpredictable. Cool enough the past week to pull on a blanket in the wee hours of the night, as night-time air wafts through the bedroom window. Warm enough by mid-afternoon to feel exhausted, working out in the garden, even in the shade. As we did yesterday afternoon. Jackie and Jillie love wandering through the forest trails with us, but they're none too keen to be out in the backyard other than for official business.

Yesterday they tolerated the heat because we were for the most part at the front of the house, working on the gardens there. They prefer being there to the backyard since it's on the street in front of the house that action, if any materializes, takes place with people sauntering by or children riding bicycles, or people walking their dogs up or down the street, eliciting their attention.

It amazes us that last year at this time in the forest we were confronted with the sight of two Himalayan orchids, their flowers radiantly glowing in the sun. This year it's not merely two of the plants that decorate the forest confines before plunging deep into the interior, for the fast-replicating plants have managed in one season  to colonize an entire hillside leading into the forest, their bright pink flowers capturing the sunlight like little beacons of light.

They're late bloomers and still have plenty of time to continue showing off. But in the same token it's become abundantly clear that fall has sent its initial emissaries to stealthily initiate the process of shutting down summer for another year. All the signs are there; random fallen foliage, mostly poplar and maples, standing out for the brilliant hues they've taken on.

And mushrooms which normally appear in fall have begun to pop up here and there. The forest squirrel population has been busy acquiring and storing food to take them over the sere winter months. We've been discovering lots of spruce cones fully or partially taken apart, their seeds either eaten or taken away for winter storage. Similarly, we see the same with acorns, that in fact squirrels nip them off the oak branches not waiting for them to fall, then chew them apart to extract the oaknut.

There were others out and about on the trails, but only a few, compared to yesterday, and with them their companion dogs. So Jackie and Jillie did enjoy some socializing, everyone behaving themselves for a change (which is to say, Jackie and Jillie did; other dogs tend to be better behaved than our two little rascals).

And then, after taking our time lollygagging about we completed the morning's circuit and returned home. In the interim between when we'd set out and returned the atmosphere had turned decidedly warmer, the humidity level had risen, and now that our morning walk was concluded we were prepared to welcome afternoon rain whether thunderstorms of just plain rain. All the vegetation surrounding us love it. A far cry from what is happening in China where monsoon type rains have been unstoppable for months, resulting in massive floods in the central part of the country. To the extent that there are fears the Three Gorges Dam could conceivably fail.

We pried open one eye to cock it at the clock which didn't quite match the dusky gloom in the bedroom. No, it wasn't four in the morning, but eight. And still raining. So heavily we'd earlier had to close the window. We had hoped to take advantage of a cooling breeze, but what eventuated was a howling wind that hurled the rain into the bedroom. So, sigh, closed window.

Still raining? We turned our heads back comfortably into our pillows. Then Jillie did her whine, and Jackie his sharp bark, reminding us that this was indeed time, past time, to rouse our lazy bones out of bed. So we did. And went downstairs to study the situation. The situation was that the rain was still pounding heavily onto the metal canopy on the deck, there was a definite twilight atmosphere and the rain kept lashing against the glass doors, dripping down the screen door.

Not the very best of times to persuade Jackie and Jillie to go out into the backyard when we had the comfort of the bathroom to empty our bladders. And worse than that, there would be no ravine hike this morning. And given the forecast, it was likely we'd have to bypass any kind of foray into the forest trails today. Gloom settled to make its way into our prospects for the day.

And then, as we began setting the table for breakfast, suddenly the rain dripping off the canopy stopped entirely. Out went the puppies, up came our prospects, and we prepared ourselves to dash out for that forlorn hike through the forest. It was a world resembling an aquarium that greeted us, everything in the landscape completely drenched, the forest canopy steadily dripping, but we were delighted.

That nice breeze we were hoping to entice into our bedroom window for some relief from the heat that has compromised the comfort of the past week and a half, wafted rain-cool air over us, and then the sun discovered a crack in the armour of the cloud cover, and lit up the world, momentarily. Expressing in rather concrete terms exactly how we felt.

And off we went, down the hill into the ravine, into the confines of the dripping, Jade forest. The creek was as wide and full and thrashing, carrying twigs and branches in its sway as it would ever be during spring when the snowpack in the forest was in full melt. There were rapids and eddies and the water gurgled and sang and sped on its way, vacated from the hillsides, driven downstream by the force of its rain-resurgent dual purpose as a local storm-surge capacity raceway.

It soon became evident that we were not the only people in the community watching the skies and taking their cues from an open-window opportunity to get out while the opportunity presented. Others familiar to us out with their dogs passed us at one juncture, only to meet up with us once again at another, mostly because they chose a short circuit on the upper surface of the forest and we're committed to a longer one that encompasses the ravine itself.

Not once did it appear likely that the heavens would once again open up. We hadn't this time taken the precaution of carrying along rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie, much less for ourselves. Truth is when the ambient temperature is so over-heated with such a high degree of humidity, a little rainshower wouldn't be entirely unwelcome as a cooling device.

But that didn't happen, and there were no complaints from us. Back home we trotted, Jackie and Jillie eager for breakfast. And since it's Sunday, breakfast is prolonged and pre-ordained; a half-melon sliced between us, banana each, and French toast and breakfast sausages augmented by tea and coffee. In their kibble, the puppies also get pieces of melon, and chicken left over from Friday night.

What they're really waiting anxiously for, though, is their share of the French toast and sausages. It's Sunday, after all!