She's not running fleet-of-foot through the forest trails, blond pony-tail swinging back and forth, her good-natured husky companion loping alongside, any longer. As she was when we first met her back in early spring, heavily pregnant. She now looks trim and healthy as she did back then, minus the bulging abdomen, as she wheels along one of those rugged baby strollers meant for use on uneven, tough surfaces. The husky still remains close, a guardian to the now-two-month-old baby girl whom her mother named Leonia.

Gently tugging aside the sunscreen over the mosquito netting covering the stroller the baby is revealed, her tiny hands in tight little balls, her head turned sideways, wide-awake but quiescent. Her mother tells us the moment she begins pushing the stroller her daughter falls silent, hushed with the comfort of the movement and from then until her stroll through the upper trails of the forest is completed, the baby either sleeps comfortably, or remains awake but soothed by the steady movement.

Jackie always lets me know when it's time to move on as far as he's concerned, by tugging at my legs, sometimes with the fabric of my trouser pants pulled in the direction he feels we've been waylaid from. Jillie always finds something intriguing to hold steadily in her front paws, her rear end poised straight up at the sky as she busies herself gnawing away on twigs. But eventually we bid one another adieu and once again make off through the trails on a beautiful, cool and bright morning.

Stopping now and again for the obligatory perusal of the fruit-bearing shrubs to pluck a few here and there while Jackie and Jillie wait, this time patiently, for their treats. Including the now-ripened wild apples. From long late-summer acquaintance with the various apple trees we're familiar with which of them host sweet and juicy apples and which tend to be astringent, lacking both adequate moisture and sweetness. Though truth to tell, our little dogs would likely eat either types with equal gusto.

Although the fall asters are in full evidence, few are yet inclined to bloom. We did pass a few stems with delicate aster blooms. They bear some resemblance to daisies and to fleabane; much smaller than the former tend to be and much larger than the latter are, but the general design of equally spaced petals around a yellow core very similar though the petal colours differ.

Yesterday's ravine ramble was a morning one, the same formula in play; if the day is shaping up to a hot, sunny afternoon, that's the signal to leave the house pre-breakfast for a long, leisurely stroll through the forest trails. The circuit taking us anywhere between an hour and an hour-and-a-half -- time well spent and significantly adding to the quality of our daily lives.

And then, though the energy expended has excited our appetites for breakfast, we usually linger awhile on arrival back home, to continue perambulating a bit, this time around the garden. Initially to assess the condition of everything and whether watering is required and where, and finally, to succumb to the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of visually taking in the beauty of the garden, the vigorous growth of the plants and the colour and brightness of the flowers.

Jackie and Jillie enjoy the ritual as it offers to them the opportunity to look about in all directions. To determine which of the neighbours might be out and about and conceivably approachable for a bit of a patting, to the alternate of someone walking up or down the street, with dog or without, which will determine the quality of the barking that erupts from their territorial instincts.

And we wander about addressing the discrete little areas of the garden that present as their own irresistible-to-the-eye micro-landscapes, inviting dalliance while they flaunt their beautiful attractions; a garden seat, a garden pot brimming with flowers, a view of other parts of the garden, an invitation to remain, relax, restore one's equilibrium.

There is the hidden-garden aspect of that part of the garden closest to the house which cannot be seen either from the street or even the pathway leading from the driveway to the front of the house. It is partially hidden by the weeping Mulberry tree that stands there, shielding from view what lays beyond.

And then, there is that part of the garden that is enclosed by the stone infrastructure installed by my husband, painstakingly working with hammer and chisel so many years ago when he worked so industriously for several months to excavate a large area, hauling out construction debris, clay and sod to fill it with a bed of deep gravel then sand and finally overlaid with bricks to create patios and walkways. Over the succeeding years it has stood up marvellously well, unlike many of those of our neighbours for whom professionals did the work.

There, yesterday, among the spent California poppies maturing their seed heads, was a gold-coloured Dragonfly, flitting about, and finally landing on a seedhead, a welcome visitor to the garden, along with the butterflies and bees that make it a regular stop in their busy lives.