The creek down in the ravine as we sauntered downhill into the forest enclave, treated us to a convincing enough springtime ritual of flooding, a truly command performance. It was not only the sound of water rushing over rapids where detritus attempts to block the smooth downstream passage that alerted us as we made our way down the first long descent, but the unmistakable and rare odour rising from it.

The flush of melting snow from the hillsides served to fill the now-gushing waterway to the extent that it dug up accumulated detritus on the creek floor, churning it and turning it over in its mad rush and thus disturbing the vegetable matter decomposing within to produce marsh gas, that distinctively sulphurous-smelling methane gas familiar to anyone who has paddled a canoe through a marsh when paddles were dipped deep enough to disturb the layers of biodegrading vegetation below.

As we made our way onward over the bridge and ascended another hill delving deeper in the forest confines the smell receded until it was no more. The footing was once again semi-slippery, the resulting semi-melt of the accumulated winter's-worth of snow and ice beginning to turn to slush because the high temperature for the day was a balmy 4C.

We could actually see, in some instances, where snow was disappearing. Gauged by eyeing the depth of the trail as compared to specific hallmarks familiar to us; the crook of a large tree, the height of passage over a bridge, with the top rail several feet 'lower' than normal against our own height, that kind of thing. No problem for Jackie and Jillie, the snow still firm enough to resist the weight of their light bodies.  For us, though, it has become mandatory to walk like a cat, in a straight line over the tramped-down trail.

One deviation resulting from a momentary lack of awareness and we find a leg suddenly immersed in snow up to a knee. And then the struggle to retain balance and extricate that wayward leg. Best to remain aware. One foot directly in front of the other.

When we exited the ravine, once again closer to the creek, that all-enveloping odour once again blighted the atmosphere. And as we gained height, we lost the smell. Then became aware that a large, very large vehicle was employing its plow to clear the melting ice off the road and onto the shoulders of the road already piled at a level equal to our height. The immense machine was unable, despite the milder temperature, to scrape the ice down to pavement, but it did remove a tonnage of surface ice that had turned to mush making progress down the street bipedally like making one's way through a swamp.

We're on track to welcome spring. Which will, without doubt, eventually arrive in all her early glory.