Certainly there's the nuisance factor resulting from a snowfall. But first there's the glorious sight of snowflakes tumbling down from the clouds above and their lazy swirl as they pack themselves around and about everything that receives them, a soft white cloud themselves of the winter phenomenon of freezing moisture tumbling about in the atmosphere.

A snowstorm is a swirling descent of flaky crystals whose shapes are both random and startlingly creative, but then why wouldn't they be, since they're the creation of the same omnipresent, omnipotent force responsible for the existence of all things and everything?

A snowfall is as exquisitely ephemeral as any natural phenomenon that has passed through existence on its way to extinction, for nothing lasts and everything is recycled in the endless transformation of matter assuming unimaginable variants of being. Our human sensations and emotions are moved by what we experience in the present; we cannot possibly be aware of the events that have preceded us and will in the fullness of time succeed us.

But for the moment we can dwell on the privilege of witnessing nature's countless events that impact on us, sensitive to our immediate environment and to the reality that we are a significant portion of that environment. All of which is to say, isn't it, how much we can, if we allow ourselves to, enjoy to the fullest extent possible these brief examples of nature's seasons.

Of course, there's also a cost in energy expended eventually to bring human order to the event in question, to be enabled to enter and exit, travel and resume 'business' as usual. And that inevitably means shovelling those marvellous crystals that tend to heap themselves everywhere, hampering ease of movement. The price we pay, so to speak, for being part of nature.

First things first; off we went with Jackie and Jillie during the snowstorm, wading our way up the street that wouldn't be plowed by municipal crews for hours. Jackie and Jillie are smart enough to seek out the furrows in the snow created by passing vehicles, though there weren't too many, to be sure. Gaining the entrance to the ravine by climbing over the snowpack adjacent the group mailbox we found that at some time someone had been out before us.

Jackie and Jillie simply leap their four-legged ecstasy through the snow, following within the shallow and narrow trench of the still-visible path filling in with new snow. And we followed them. Jillie has a tendency to race far ahead, turning back on occasion to spot where we are, while Jackie races back and forth from her to us in an excited display of high energy output. We make no effort to replicate that kind of output, and take our time.

We find them both awaiting our arrival at the foot of the venerable pine at the base of our entrance trail as we make the ascent, then all of us veer off to the left and to another, briefer ascent. By that time the trail has been tamped down somewhat, pointing to the earlier presence of others, though the momentum of the snowfall means we are in some areas 'breaking trail' until we reach the main trail accessed over the first of the bridges over the now-frozen and snow-laden creek, and up another hill to a main ridge where the ravine falls away on either side, as we progress forward after a right turn.

Jackie and Jillie stop occasionally to bark fervently at the valley to the left, sensing someone we cannot see at first making their way through another trail we don't plan to access this day. Eventually as we continue along, we can make out a partial dim figure a far way down below, moving steadily along, and as we continue to move steadily forward through the falling snow, the landscape enraptures us with fleeting filaments of snow seeming to leave traces like those of a falling star in a night sky, as they fall and settle around us.

We come across a tiny woman with ski poles and snowshoes whom we had last seen back in the summer months, and with her, Amadeus, her robust companion. Amadeus is a 125-lb. St.Bernard, comfortable in this snowy environment, friendly and totally relaxed. He's about 110 pounds heavier than Jackie, our scrawny little poodle, but both Jackie and Jillie (heavier than her brother) are comfortable in this giant breed's company.

We talk awhile and the three dogs become re-acquainted in the way that canines do; casually and undemandingly, their interest soon turning back to the landscape that excites them just as much as it does us, likely more since they're infinitely more adaptable to all that is natural in this world, making few demands upon the environment to exploit it to advantage, as we do.