Here in the region of Canada's capital city the atmosphere continues chilly. Still, vegetation is stubborn and now that the frost is gone from the soil, our garden's irises are beginning to push their way through to liberty from their winter hiatus, joining the tulips, alliums, grape hyacinths, bleeding hearts and lilies erupting from the soil.

In the ravine, on the forest floor, there are few plants yet emerging, but here and there tiny violet leaves and those of wild strawberries. Finally, signs of reappearing life, struggling against an unusual weather pattern of high humidity, gusting winds and persistent cold.

When we were out on the forest trails yesterday with Jackie and Jillie we saw few other regular hikers. When we neared the entrance point to the ravine adjacent a community some distance from our own, Jackie and Jillie picked up pace, barked excitedly, then ran to meet and greet a small apricot poodle named Max, a vibrant, vivacious character of their own age. Then they diverted their run toward the person Max tends to bring most often with him into the ravine.

She delights in seeing our two, a friendly woman whose teen-age son occasionally takes Max for his walks through the forest trails. She had a message for us yesterday. Although we're always aware that unseen though they may be, there are coyotes living in the ravine. And the day before, she informed us, two were seen together crossing one of the pathways. Nova, the now-fully-grown white German shepherd had been out with Rob at 7:30 that morning and seeing the coyotes chased them.

Another friend had also come across the two in the early morning when he was walking his little female Lab. The caution is primarily for people like us, with quite small dogs whom carnivores like coyotes might attempt to pursue as 'fair game'. So we kept our two closer to us than we normally do throughout the length of our circuit yesterday. It is certainly disturbing that two coyotes were seen together. Hard to judge what their food source would be other than squirrels, chipmunks, voles. And if there is a growing colony that might equate with food scarcity.

We are aware of the presence of barred owls as well in the ravine. At night their calls can be heard from our backyard. On occasion we hear them as well while we're in the ravine. And when we hear a great commotion of crows it's a fair certainty that they're mobbing around an owl, harassing it for their own reasons. Owls would have their own hunting territory of a given size, in competition for food resources with the coyotes.

A sunny day with a high of 12C and light wind, it seemed just perfect yesterday for our stroll along the trails, looking for signs that yes, finally spring has arrived. Today's weather is another story altogether; heavily overcast, and so cold that icy fingers of cold crept through our clothing. And for the duration of our lengthy circuit we could hear and see ice pellets pinging off our raincoats, and gathering on Jackie's and Jillie's ears and neck ruff. Their raincoats, however, kept them warm and dry and so did their rubber boots.

Yesterday though, we were convinced that the last day of April had finally, and none-too-soon committed us to spring, it was so weather-perfect. At one juncture I became aware suddenly of a small shadow passing overhead reflected on the forest floor. Raising my head I began to look for the only butterfly that tends to have that effect at this typical time, a Mourning Cloak. I found it flying overhead in characteristic wide loops, then settling on a nearby tree.

This is the earliest butterfly we see in spring. We thought we'd soon be seeing them appear, and sure enough there one was. Others will follow and we'll see pairs of the butterflies engaging in courting dances, circling one another, pirouetting, preparing to mate.