Driving along the Eastern Parkway is always pleasurable, the view of the Ottawa River, free of ice, with the occasional ice pan still floating downriver, and the banks and fields alongside slowly revealing what has lain under the blanket of snow all winter long, giving us promise of spring. Although spring seems elusive this year; the days boomerang between temptingly mild and lapses of return-to-winter temperatures. We have been informed by Environment Canada that Friday will be cold, and we can expect snow, more snow.

We were headed to Byward Market, to stroll about there a bit, because it was a relatively mild day with sun, little wind; close to perfect for the occasion. Riley was tucked into his little bag and carried over-the-shoulder as usual as we nipped into a few shops. Our trip was primarily about getting the latest issues of the arts and antiques magazines that my husband refers to and takes huge pleasure in perusing. And also to drop by his favourite cheese shop, where we shop for special-variety and imported cheeses, at very good prices.

Not many tourists to be seen on this day around Parliament Hill, its lawn still covered with snow, though the streets downtown are devoid of the snow that still remains hard-packed and stubborn in the areas where we live, outside the city core, in what is called the suburban area. Traffic was light and we moved swiftly along, admiring as we always do, the sights of the formal buildings of government.

The only vendors at the Byward Market to be seen on a still-wintry spring day were those selling maple syrup in a variety of containers, and costume jewellery hawkers with their displays spread out alluringly in their stalls, glinting in the sun. Because it was a week-day the market wasn't as crowded as it usually tends to be, with people sitting even in this weather, in the front courtyards of the various cafes.

We were fortunate to get one of those rare parking spaces fairly near the places we were interested in; parking is usually at a premium and one must walk relatively long distances to get to the heart of the market. We didn't stay long, as comfortable as the atmosphere was, it still isn't to the degree that one truly appreciates when setting out for an urban stroll.

On our return it was straight out to the ravine, where the snow and ice are rapidly melting into piles of slush, and the creek is full of dark water, running full flush. When forging our way uphill as we must by necessity, it feels like we're struggling through piles of deep, soft sand, with the forward-momentum footstep inevitably slipping back, and the back leg, attempting to firmly grasp the shifting morass underfoot to keep from sliding back down the hill.

The effort is fatiguing, but transitory; before long all will have melted, the soil will have thawed, and the forest floor will begin sprouting its early-spring flowers.