Late afternoon ravine walks have their special appeal. We're always surprised when we are in there, walking along the side trails, to hear the work in progress, the motorized sound permeating the atmosphere, of the tracked vehicles on the major trails. They've become 'major' in the sense that they now resemble 19th Century cart tracks, not the nature trails we've so long become accustomed to.

The work crews have widened the major trails to accommodate the width of the heavy equipment brought in to enable the building of long-lasting bridges in replacement of those that have been demolished by order of the municipality. Themselves built to last, a mere five years earlier. But falling prey to the inevitable degradation caused by the clay base upon which they were built, succumbing to environmental challenges of weather. The four replacement bridges will have steel and concrete bases.

As the prevailing light slowly succumbs to dusk, the atmosphere in the forest changes subtly and beautifully. The sight is captivating, clutching at our aesthetic, bringing with it a comfort in being temporarily within the nature surrounding us. To avoid encountering the mechanized shovels and shovers we have taken to crossing the major street at the foot of our own street to access the other side of the ravine. Not nearly blessed with the width and breadth of our own, but beautiful in its own singular presence. Not as physically challenging to access and perambulate, either, for that matter. Nor as difficult to retreat from, given its relative shallowness.

Which also endows it with especial sightlines, particularly as dusk begins to fall and the sun begins to set on the horizon. When the sky turns a spectacular blazing orange behind the trees, on the line of the horizon. And the trees become dark sentinels, silence pervading the atmosphere. And when the urge to remember the beauty by taking photographs which do not, in the end, quite capture the majesty and loveliness of it all, takes hold.

There is something mysterious and inviting in the short interval at this time of year between daylight and falling dusk and the swiftness of nightfall. It had snowed two days ago, and a little more the following day. Not a truly substantial amount of snow, but several inches. And then the temperature dropped again, and ice crystals formed on top of the light snowpack, so our boots crunch through it all, a sound that recalls so many memories of times past when we revelled in such pleasurable delights.