It always seems to us that we have been unceremoniously and swiftly plunged from summer into fall. All our experience in the shift to another season inherent in our octogenarian years, you might think would persuade us that the shift is anything but swift, it is a relatively slow, graduated process, summer to fall. It just doesn't seem that way emotionally.

This week has been cooler than it should be for the very beginning of October. Granted, last October was really unusually warm, sunny and altogether delightful. We're obviously not in a repeat of last year. We have been immersed in too-cool, too-rainy, too-windy weather and this initial introduction to fall is convincing us that we're in store for a harsh fall and winter.

We're no weather geniuses. After all, it's what the venerable, trustworthy Farmer's Almanac has been gleefully warning all its faithful, weather-trembling readers. So we're now bundling up for our forays into the forest; not just for us but for Jackie and Jillie as well. Nothing heavy yet, just a bit of cover for a slight nudge of warmth and comfort. To cope with the wind and the icy feel of impending winter.

Yesterday, when we set out for the ravine, it was under a sunny sky alternating with overcast, and we were aware rain was headed our way. Oblivious to these niggling details, Jackie and Jillie are ecstatic to be out, to feel free to roam and to poke about at all the tantalizing new smells that the aftermath of rain always accentuates. Not long into our hike in the early afternoon they came across Max, a little Apricot poodle with energy to burn, and Jackie and Jillie were happy to help him do just that.

And then, a short while later, a group of three large mix-breed dogs, one a frisky young Labradoodle, another a part Golden, and the third whose lineage is obviously far more complicated than that. We and they know all of these dogs as calm and friendly, just like their humans. Still, when we first come upon them opposite an alternate entrance to the forest, Jackie and Jillie make one of their usual noisy fusses, ignored by the other dogs entirely.

It's as though there's a 'hark, who goes there, friend or foe', ritual that must first be played out, a little drama beloved of our two stubborn little dogs. Usually other dogs respond by ignoring the noise and offering to play, or just swerving off the trail into the woods interior to bypass the little pests.

The trails are starting to become increasingly colourful, with fallen pine needles, their orange hue adding a pleasantly picturesque touch to the forest landscape. In areas where deciduous trees predominate, foliage constantly tumbling from their high perches is gathering in a colourful kaleidoscope of fall's offering.

Asters are still blooming, although battered from time to time by the ongoing rain. And there is one stalk of goldenrod we pass on the trail with a thick, heavy floral head, fresh and yellow, standing out as one of the very last in bloom, while other vegetation on the forest floor is steadily drying up, desiccating, disappearing.