It isn't just Canada geese returning, along with robins and other seasonal migrants to greet oncoming spring weather. Milder temperatures and more reasonable weather scenarios bringing us as much rain as wet snow at this juncture appears to have persuaded some people to actually venture outdoors rather than continue to cower in their homes but for venturing out now and again to do their shopping.

And yesterday as we made our way up the street toward the entrance to the ravine our community accesses, we came across a few of our neighbours in conversation adjacent the street. Which of course necessitates a stop for a brief neighbourhood discussion. These are neighbours who live much closer to the ravine entrance than we do, but who have no idea whatever what the forest looks like, having never ventured into it.

Not that people don't have their own ideas of what should constitute exercise and recreational opportunities; Jean-Guy and his wife, as an example, do a lot of bicycling, inclined to take quite prolonged trips cycling where they will spend several hours doing what pleases them most aiming for distinct destinations, though it's not a daily activity.

For some reason that escapes us completely, all too many people shy away from the opportunity to immerse themselves, even briefly, within our readily accessible natural surroundings. They may, among them, agree that walking about rather than driving everywhere has its benefits, but seldom do it. And some, agreeing to take themselves out for walks feel that the traditional 'walk around the block' will do nicely for them. So be it. Personally, I find nothing attractive about walking on city hardscape in preference to the soft, natural surface that nature provides in a forest.

Granted, with the change of seasons now in progress, the trails in the ravine will become increasingly steeped in mud as the snow and packed ice steadily melt and fill the rampaging creek below which gives the area its charming name: Bilberry Creek Ravine [forest]. And of course, boots will bring a certain amount of detritus clinging along  wet and muddy soles to be brought home, necessitating additional clean-up. True, it's a nuisance, but a tolerable one, given the pleasant exchange.

Yesterday, following the rain of the day before, that began just as we approached our house after a long ravine walk, we found burgeoning patches on the forest floor clear of the prevailing snowpack and there will be more each time we venture out, though there's a long way to go before the forest floor is entirely relieved of its burden of snow and ice. I'd give it another month, at which time only discrete areas of holdover snow/ice will remain.

While it's still with us, brightening the landscape and maintaining its wintertime appearance to a degree, it's appreciated. Still, the snowpack is beginning to rot, its white purity taking on an unlovely aspect here and there and increasing litter from the trees shedding bits of bark, hemlock cones and dried fall leaves finally detaching from beech, oak, maple and ironwood branches and simply accumulating environmental detritus, will turn what had been a lofty white coverlet into an unpleasant potage of revealed dog excrement, crackling twigs, decomposing foliage and needles and whatever else is awaiting release from the snowpack.

The evolution of transition into renewal.