At this juncture in the stubborn transition stage from one season to another -- surely rating as the most grating of all seasonal transitions -- it's natural enough not to feel nearly as enchanted with the wintry vision of woodland trails and the forest floor heavily covered in snow and ice, as one does during the height of winter. Still, it's difficult not to feel a degree of appreciation, because despite the obvious staleness of the snow cover and the melt releasing over-wintering accumulations of detritus, with the snow taking on that uninviting cast as though some giant hand has sprinkled fireplace ash liberally over it, the scene invites photographing.

On the home front, it's no better, not yet, though the snowpack tends to melt first around the fronts and backyards of homes.

Jillie in particular has become fairly skilled at bypassing those areas in the ravine where snowmelt tends to gather in little grey pools, mustering her leaping abilities to ensure she doesn't get wet, since she is not fond of having her legs immersed in cold, dirty water. Jackie, typical for a male, sometimes makes a leap, often enough doesn't bother, though leaping comes far more readily to him than to her; he doesn't mind getting muddy. His leaps are reserved for those times when he feels particularly infused with the energy of joyful play.

We've seen the odd insect flying about. Some of them resemble mosquitoes and may very well be early manifestations of the everpresent stinging pests. There is, on the positive side, a greater presence of birds now in the ravine, the busy hoarse mutterings of crows and the melodious sweetness of cardinals in particular, among the chattering of chickadees and nuthatches.

Last night we improvidently made our way up to bed far too late. We hadn't noticed, when we put on the film Home From Home, a German production set in the mid-19th Century of village life during a time of historical social unrest, crop failures and migration of German peasants to South America, that we found quite fascinating from an historical/social point of view, bringing in details such as the hateful rift between Catholics and Protestants of the era, that the running time was so prolonged.

This was not the usual hour, hour-and-a-half-length film, but one that stretched into close to a four-hour bonanza of filmic human interaction and suffering. Our sleep deficit will have to be made up sooner or later. The screenplay gave ample food for thought and discussion, however, and so served its purpose well. Winter at that time was a season to be feared, with the additional hardships it conferred on those living then in a village where prosperity and the future was a wisp of a dream and when dread epidemics like diphtheria could sweep through, killing young and old alike.