Now, wasn't that the sight, coming down for breakfast yesterday; two greys and a black squirrel busy munching away at the offerings on the porch, while the atmosphere swirled in white clumps of starry snow. Tomorrow introduces April, and of course spring has had the jump on April by over a week. But spring has been shy this year and continues its modest-to-irrelevant appearance in the Ottawa Valley, and one suspects, far further afield as well.

Something about Demeter's anguish over Persephone, a matter that should have been resolved aeons ago, and presumably was, but the incessant bickering with the dark forces of the underworld continue unabated, most obviously.

Still, the beauty-quotient cannot possibly be discounted. Fresh-fallen snow on the landscape is almost indescribably lovely. Indescribable also is the irritation-quotient of folks awaiting winter's graceful disappearance. Winter's swan song is not, however, noted for grace; by this time of year when winter is being unceremoniously shoved out the door of the environment for the awaited entrance of spring, winter is usually curmudgeonly and bitter.

Despite which, yesterday's hour-and-a-half ramble in our ravined woods was quite, quite lovely. Lovely to amble about in there without freezing, finally, even if we're trudging through a buildup of newfallen snow sucking each booted footstep into sludge before finally releasing it with a bit of a !slurp! and a struggle to continue ambulation.

No problem if you're a six-month-old alert and mind-boggingly energetic, excruciatingly happy yellow Labrador, viewing everyone she comes across as a potential playmate eager to roll about in the lofty new puffs of the snowbanks that represent nature's playground for its creatures. Little (for her breed) Nugget was ecstatic in her greeting when she came across us signalling to her happy brain; look, new friends! although Riley thought otherwise. We watched, ourselves entranced in the renewal of life she represented, as she buried herself deep in snow, finding a handy branch to nibble on, out of her mind with happiness.

And later, coming across Munchkin, reunited with her humans who had just returned from a three-month visit with daughter and baby granddaughter in Australia. Although Munchkin is a stubby-legged, long-haired Dashchund, her tender age also propels those sturdy little legs over the landscape in frantic (unsuccessful) search-and-destroy missions whenever she spots movement from the woodlands' squirrel contingent.