Isn't it always the way. We yearn for what we don't have. Only a few days ago we were hard put to keep our vulnerable garden pots from drying out, the plants shrivelling from lack of moisture, full sun exposure and drying winds. The forest floor was cracking from ultra dryness, wildflowers were looking really frazzled to the point of notably shrinking. We needed rain.

And then rain came in abundance, along with rarer episodes of the warming sun, playing peek-a-boo between clouds scudding across the sky under the influence of upper-level winds. Yesterday the wind was so fierce it was easily recognized that it was ushering in a cold front alongside rain episodes. And because it was notably cooler in the morning we decided we would wait for our quotidian walk in the woods until afternoon.

We're never in any rush. And so I set about after breakfast putting on Friday-night soup to simmer and prepared bread dough, then another yeast dough, sweet this time, with milk, egg, butter and a little sugar to form fruit-filled buns with. Not fresh fruit this time, but a date filling, readily accomplished by simmering pitted dates with water, and adding only vanilla flavouring when it was ready to be mashed for filling use to be baked in the buns.

And then we set off for the ravine, after I'd cleaned up the kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedroom and vacuumed the family room. All routine, no hurry, formulaic. It was still early when we set off, the afternoon had just set in, and the sky was unsettled; some sun, some clouds, some wind, and a temperature of 26C.

We sauntered easily along, happy to be out and about with Jackie and Jillie, both of them somewhat subdued this time. And occasionally Jackie would speed ahead, leaving Jillie trailing behind, a reversal of what their habit usually reflects. We looked for water striders in the stream running under the bridges we cross on the way and found none yesterday. But there were small Dragonflies, glinting gold in the light, stopping now and again in their fitful flight to alight atop the wood rail of the bridge we were traversing, to bask in the sun. They're beautiful little creatures.

Halfway through our ramble the sky closed in and the woodland interior became notably darker. That, accompanied by a distant dull rumble, alerted us to oncoming rain. We could still see, looking above the forest canopy areas of light and of clear blue sky in several directions. My husband always directs my gaze to the direction in which wind carries the clouds. He predicted we'd be involved in only the edge of a thunderstorm, and he was right.

We felt the first drops of rain, and before long the patter of rain on the foliage was audible, and we briefly took shelter under a large old pine beside one of the bridges we would again cross. Jackie and Jillie were content enough to stand placidly with us, under the protective cover of one of the largest pines in our circuit. Only the occasional drop hit us, as rain fell steadily around us. And then began to lift in the space of only several minutes, prompting us to continue our hike, over the bridge, up an incline, turning left and onto a ridge of the ravine, well treed and protected.

It was, given the fact that we weren't even damp, surprising to look at all the vegetation that we passed on either side of the trail heavily laden with rainwater, glistening in the increasing light with the withdrawal of the clouds above. Everything looks rather different when it's slick with rain; colours brighter, the plants seeming to stand more erect, refreshed in appearance.

When we emerged from the ravine, we realized how cool it had been as we'd gone through the forest trails. At street level we were struck by the humidity and heat that rose from the wet pavement as we made our way down the street to access our house.