At the top of the ravine, just a little further into where the forest begins, where it meets the street we live on, there were really tall, robust mullein plants growing last year among the poplar and maple saplings, and while the plants were in flower, myriads of bees were always seen to be busy flying about -- hoverflies and butterflies as well.

The mulleins are no longer there, just the corpses from last year and they've been grown over as other wildflowers take their place. Primarily, this year, compass plant (or pilotweed as it's also known by). And it too has surpassed the normal height of this wildflower which also grows in many areas around and about and in the ravine on the forest floor. They have even managed to surpass last year's mulleins for height, towering above six feet, rivalling the height of the fast-growing poplars still in their infancy.

Wildflowers move around quite a bit in the forest. Where you've seen them the year before and the year before that isn't necessarily where they'll plant themselves a following year, although some do. To my everlasting regret we no longer see flowering grass where we saw one lone little plant come back several years in a row, delighting us with its miniature, perfect iris-like flower.

Where once we could be assured of seeing flowering bunchberry, also called dogwood wildflower they suddenly disappeared one year even though they had covered quite a wide swath of territory, and re-appeared in an area that had never before hosted them, to our recollection. Jack-in-the-Pulpits whose sole flower on a single plant is so mysteriously exotic with its large single petal arching over to hide its pistils or stamens at one time would be found only along one of the tributaries of the ravine, now years later, they're absent there, and have made their appearance everywhere else.

Fleabane, daisies, trilliums, Queen Anne's lace, yarrow, asters, goldenroad and foamflower have their presence everywhere, just as cowvetch does. But trout lilies and jewel weed seem to cultivate specific areas they return to and continue colonizing where the conditions are just right for them, year after year. So, for many of the wildflowers it's a movable feast for the eyes, while for others their presence is predictable. Regardless, every time we come across any of them it's like greeting familiar old friends.

Yesterday morning when we set out for our walk through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie it seemed like the most humid, hottest day yet, and there've been plenty of hot and humid days. The always-present breeze strove mightily to make a difference for us, and occasionally we felt some short-lived mild relief as we trudged through the pathways, making our way around our usual circuit, but for the most part it was meltingly hot, unrelievedly humid. Again, no rain.

There has been some stress on the vegetation, there always is at some point during the summer when there's a brief rain deficit, and random foliage on trees lose their green to resemble fall and tumble from their perches. When we pass the raspberry shrubs now and poke about for ripe berries for Jackie and Jillie the pickings are slim to vanishing. That ship has sailed. Now, we can look forward to ripening thimbleberries but they're a long way off yet.

Arrived back home, a pang of guilt at the sight of the garden pots flush with blooms and begging for a drink. Something else needing to be tended to before the day is out.