There are certain seasonal rituals that are not to be toyed with, taken lightly, given less than their due as vitally important to fully enjoying certain times of year. In winter, needless to say, we seek comfort in warmth. Which means that our bedrooms must be inviting places to rest and sleep throughout the night hours and above all our beds must be draped accordingly in warmth adequate to our needs.

My husband feels it is needful to use fleecy sheet sets during the coldest of the winter months, and I certainly agree with him. The fabric instantly communicates warmth and comfort. To us, in any event. There's time for cotton sheets and winter isn't that time. Mind, I will revert to using flannel sheet sets once the temperature stops dipping below freezing at night. And they eventually will give way to cotton sets in summer.

But our winter-weight duvet, I thought yesterday, had to go. I knew this would bother my husband who enjoys its soft depths and all-enclosing comfort, but nights well above -20C no longer need that level of warmth and so I substituted a light-weight transitional duvet for the interim as we slowly begin to warm up to spring. Of course, looking around us outside we're still deep in snow. But it will surely melt in another few weeks, we hope, and we will truly begin to enter spring mode.

When I turned down the spread over our bed last night my husband, who rarely notices things of that nature, saw immediately that a different duvet cover presented itself and understood that his beloved fluffed-up plush duvet was no longer there to invite him to indulge in its deep embrace. I hastened to assure him he would never notice the difference at this point, and he grumblingly accepted that. Sure enough, by morning he agreed.

When we were out yesterday afternoon in the ravine after all the laundry was done and other household chores completed, it hardly seemed as though the days were beginning to warm up, although they have been lengthening in daylight hours. Guess we'll have to focus on that bonus for awhile. Until the snowpack in the ravine melts from its current depth, accumulated as a result of our having received over 300 cm of snow this winter, the ambient atmosphere in the ravine will remain cold.

And cold it certainly seemed yesterday, as we ambled along the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. The wind bustled about as though supervising the transition to spring. At ground level it was strong enough to make us a little uncomfortable, but it was at the canopy level of the forest that it was issuing its most urgent commands, rudely roaring and swaying tree tops.

The trails that had begun to thaw the day before, under the influence of sun filtering through, yesterday re-iced because of both wind and lower temperature and the absence of sun. Despite which it was a lovely day and we felt fortunate as usual to be able to get out and make the most of the day. On those rare occasions when we are unable because of really inclement conditions to take our two little dogs out for their usual perambulations through the trails we feel guilty and irresponsible.

After our return home my husband's attention turns to the invitation to local wildlife sitting out on our porch, and replenishes the vanishing stock of seeds, nuts and bread. It's only when twilight arrives that he also puts out dog kibble for the raccoons. I watched a tiny red squirrel (this little fellow was small even for a red squirrel) biding its time in our miniature weeping pea tree until an officious grey squirrel would allow him to take advantage of the offerings the larger squirrel was monopolizing.

A few days back when one of the raccoons had come around earlier than usual in daylight hours I noted that the raccoon didn't mind the close presence of a little red squirrel on the porch, both absorbed in delicately picking up what most interested them in particular, neither paying much attention to the other. And Jackie watching them both through the glass front door, barking furiously while they both ignored his futile efforts at territorial intimidation.