We're getting a few days of (temporary) relief from the cold snap that has tumbled us headlong into the icy dead of winter this past week. With temperatures set to rise to a balmy -6-degrees C. and freezing rain forecast for this afternoon we made our way a little earlier than usual into the ravine. Yesterday's snowfall of ten centimetres was in full evidence on the trees surrounding us like frozen steeples of crystalline white. We haven't seen crows for quite awhile, but there they were, flying high and roosting low.

We were well swaddled for the cold. I've been finding it now, at my age when I can no longer proceed in the brisk fashion still available to me twenty, ten years ago - even five years ago - resulting in an incapacity to build up a head of steam as it were, burning energy and helping in this way to keep warm. Lately, going out in -12-degrees feels more like -25, inclusive of the toll that wind takes in lowering core body temperature; the body diverting its attention from the extremities to the trunk.

My habit of doling out peanuts throughout the length of our walk further incapacitates my ability to retain body heat, when I wear a single mitten, discarding for the purpose of distributing peanuts, my outer, fleece-lined leather mitten, making me even more vulnerable. Yesterday I kept both mittens on and just shook peanuts out of the bag.

We came across Max halfway through our peregrination, with his usual light red jacket open at the throat, wielding two ski poles and zipping his way through his circuit, his thin body looking as frail as ever. Today his forehead, nose and upper cheeks looked as though they'd been painted bright pink. Looks to me as though he has come very close to frost-bite, perhaps yesterday in the cold and snow whipped by the wind. He seems oblivious to the need to protect vulnerable bare patches of skin.

Lilly romped by, her lovely white pelt melding into the landscape, and her jovial human following. Soon after the two fuzzy little terriers that have become best friends came along, happy to see us. Struggling up the penultimate hill to our final destination after them was their human companion. And he was struggling. He is not yet out of his late 20s, a robust, well-built quite tall young man whose profession is that of a fire fighter.

So if someone like that, in the full flush of energetic youth with a professional mandate to stay vigorous and strong was having difficulties traversing the snow-laden landscape that prompted me to stop and rest far more often than my husband required for himself, I suppose it's a kind of vindication; tough is tough.

It took us a full two hours to complete our usual circuit. During which we relished the sight of the snow-coated ravine. The creek, completely frozen over and heaped with snow. Familiar landmarks sometimes disappear in the anonymity of a full-flushed snow blanket.

The wind created a wonderfully ephemeral scene, urging snow off high-steepled firs and pines. The result, an exquisitely fragile and arcane-appearing mist of snow as the abundance high above submitted to the wind's imperative. Chickadees flitted about in the dense security of the snow-stippled spruces.

And by the time we emerged finally at the top of our street, we were fairly bushed.