The very first of the autumn foliage to be flaunted is of those maples whose leaves turn a brilliant, crimson red. And they tend not to remain fixed on the trees for any prolonged period. Soon enough the ground below is eye-candy-teasingly littered with red. Those are followed by the poplars whose foliage turns a pale and lovely shade of yellow, with the occasional blush pink leaf interspersing.

Birch trees blaze in their own version of yellow shades. The beech leaves turn a warm, coppery glow of burnished orange tinged with brown. But they take their time; some copses, of younger trees turn quickly, but others comprised of more mature beeches hold out until the bitter end when frost hits nightly.

Then there are stretches of maple whose foliage turns not pink or red, but softly golden as though so heavily influenced by the sun they have little option but to reflect its fiery glow right back at the heavens above. The vistas of colour they represent capture the eye, sending it deep within the layers of maples, hypnotizing and vibrant.

Oak appears the slowest, the most reluctant to have their foliage turn leathery brown and fall away. Oak, beech and ironwood foliage often remain attached throughout the winter months; the more immature a tree, the more likely it is to happen, and the dried foliage becomes ivory-pale, almost transparent, waving in winter winds, but stubbornly hanging on.

I've never had a digital camera that has been able to adequately capture fall colour to any real degree of satisfaction. Invariably, the shades of gold and yellow that dazzle our eyes somehow come out verdant, nowhere near resembling any true verisimilitude.

We make our way along the forest trails in the ravined woods so readily accessed from the street we live on, and as we do so we're in a semi-state of daylight-walking dreamscapes presented to us whether bright sun or dimly overcast atmosphere. Yesterday as we progressed along the trails, the temperature was an even 4C, but seemed much warmer in the absence of wind in contrast the day before when the temperature, slightly cooler, felt like a winter-ravaged day because of the presence of an assertive wind.

This, despite that as we hiked along keeping close watch on the antics produced by Jackie and Jillie disporting themselves amusingly, we were being treated now and again to limited bursts of snow flurries. We could feel the snow as it settled upon our heads in the faintest of 'pings', but as soon as the frozen moisture landed, it lost no time melting. It's that interim period between late fall nudging early winter.