It may as yet be an isolated day for its benign promise that spring has kept its word and is on the cusp of appearing, but we now know for certain that winter has departed. And it took long enough. Too long. It's not that we mustered any patience, deciding sensibly not to chafe our minds over something we have no control over, more as though we gritted our teeth and endured. And yesterday was the very first indication of reward.

The temperature soared to 17C, and although there was a continual stiff wind, the aura of spring was there, writ large on the atmosphere. Finally, returning birds will be able to forage successfully for food sources. The sky was a blissful cornflower blue, and the sun sailed its mighty presence through that sea of blue, hugging us with its warmth.

Even our local squirrels and raccoons were out early to make the most of this marvellous day, stopping by the porch to pick delicately among the offerings left out for them. Our presence at the door watching them occasionally, creates no concern on their part, even when Jackie gets on with his harassing ritual, leaping at the door, and hysterically barking his disapproval of their presence.

Goodbye winter jackets! Alas, we cannot yet wave adieu to our boots and cleats. Mild the temperature may have been but it will take more than one absolutely perfect day to melt the remaining mountain of snow that continues to clutter our yards and above all, the forest floor. Not to mention the spreading ice cover which, without said cleats, would be a hindrance to our hiking.

No insects yet flying about, but they'll arrive shortly, no doubt. The first of the butterflies to appear will be the Mourning Cloaks, and we'll see them first when their shadows, flitting about among the still-bare branches of the trees alert us to their presence. They will perform their mating dance, a pair twirling about one another in the air like perfect ballerinas, and we will see them only in two very select parts of the trail system.

The creek was just about as swollen with snow melt as we've ever seen it; broad and swift-running. As we walked alongside it yesterday afternoon during our forest walk with Jackie and Jillie my husband's keen eye spotted in the near distance something a little unusual. The water may have been turbulent and swift moving, but the pair of Mallards he saw were just leisurely paddling their way along close to the far bank of the creek.

Every year when spring arrives we see one or two pairs stopping by the creek briefly to rest from the rigours of their migration back to Canada, and they're a welcome sight. The sunlight caught the drake's iridescent-bright green head feathers as he swam alongside his far more drab partner. Jackie and Jillie alerted by our attention to something different, saw the pair as well and their chorus of barks failed to alarm the ducks, to our relief.

Every day we note a difference in the shrinking snowpack, with a good measure of satisfaction that eventually the forest floor will have the opportunity to thaw and nudge all the trees and shrubs into awareness that their time to flaunt their verdant glory has arrived.