While we were perambulating through the ravine yesterday, a fox ran out of the underbrush across the trail about 20 yards in front of us. There was a time, decades ago, when foxes would just sit on the trail and watch us, as we would walk through the forest with our little dogs. Now, they race through, not wanting to be watched by humans. Their comfort in their natural environment has been shattered with the growth of surrounding communities and no doubt the increased number of off-leash dogs that wander through with their owners.

It's easy enough to gain the impression that there are far fewer foxes around than there used to be. On the other hand, people whose backyards abut on the ravine, unlike our own, tell us that they frequently see foxes. At one time we'd even see them on occasion sauntering down streets hard by the ravine. On occasion it's still possible to see something like that, when you do a double take at the neat, rufus-furred, slender canine walking at its leisure from a neighbouring street directly into the ravine.

At present, we seldom see them, my husband and I, not directly. Rather, we catch glimpses of red-coloured fur slipping quickly across a trail and into the woods and feel ourselves to have been fortunate to see that much. I hadn't seen yesterday's fox, my husband had. By the time he alerted me all I could see was the bracken of the undergrowth under the forest trees parting swiftly as the fox made its urgent way through and away from our near proximity.

There's always a sense of regret, of having missed sighting some impressive force of nature, afterward. We're out earlier in the day to do our woodland ramble this week, again. We're headed into another heat wave, so that seems sensible, to get out early and avoid the heat of the day. In the ravine's environs the forest canopy throws ample shade, to make the atmosphere feel cooler, and breezes help immeasurably to cool us off as we forge on.