In the hiatus between late fall, when frigid temperatures gradually build and frost penetrates the ground, until the time when snowfall is regularly experienced and an accumulation begins to blanket the landscape, there is a brooding quality to the atmosphere that we encounter in the woods. The prevailing light filtering down from above through bared branches becomes dimmer and wind rustles whatever dried foliage remains on some immature ironwood and beech trees, transparently light-brown, giving a bit of bright colour to the monotone shades of black and grey.

On some days when the sky is pure pewter in colour, a silvery light pours into the woods below, providing the environment with an evanescent silver appearance that seems arcanely beautiful. When freezing rain has come down throughout the nighttime hours, hours later when the rain stops and the temperature rises slightly, branches that were covered in a layer of ice begin to shed the ice, and globules of iridescent-bright ice-melt dangle into view.

Yesterday was a gloomy version of a woodland perambulation. Rain had penetrated the ground although it remained frost-hard and lumpy underfoot. Exposed clay portions of the trails running up and down the ravine were dangerously slippery and care had to be taken not to descend unintentionally prone in dismaying surprise. We saw no one else out and about. A twilight atmosphere prevailed, with a hint of brooding dimness.

We had made certain to wear rain-proof outer garments in preparation for an any-second downpour, but we escaped that scenario. Still, it would take a lot to convince us to pass on any opportunity any day to venture out into the ravine. Why would we avoid that exposure to our natural surroundings when even under inclement conditions the landscape is so beautifully compelling?