It's certainly to be expected as we move closer to winter that the days and nights will be progressively colder, the daylight hours crimped, and wind events whip up rainstorms dropping excessive chilling rainwater on our landscape. And yesterday was one of those days. Cold, very windy and unceasing rain. We usually manage to find an interval however brief through the course of a rainy day when we can slip out of the house and over to the ravine before the rain starts up again. But not yesterday.

The house was dark through the day in reflection of the heavy overcast conditions and the charcoal grey clouds littering the sky, and Jackie and Jillie were becoming ever more restless, puzzling over our lack of action in getting us all out on the forest trails for a whopping good time in the woods. The opportunity just never presented itself. Just as well it was also a busy day and we had our hands full.

And then suddenly, just after five o'clock the rain shut down. The occasional plop of wayward raindrops informed us that this was our opportunity. Whether we felt by then, like going out is another matter entirely. The wind was still in evidence whipping through the trees, and dusk was falling. It would be at least six by the time we returned, we reasoned, and fully dark. We'd be late with dinner.

And with such an overcast sky visibility once it became fully dark wouldn't be wonderful. But we know the terrain well, and were prepared to dress for the damp cold and wind, so off we went, Jackie and Jillie wearing their lined raincoats. I had started dinner, a fish chowder, and would  only have to add the fish on our return, prepare the salad and serve leftover pumpkin pie chilling in the refrigerator.

Once dusk begins to fall, it moves in aggressively, swiftly, but there was still some light as we entered the ravine, and the colourful, bright presence of autumn foliage on  the trees and fallen to the forest floor brightened the darkening atmosphere beautifully. We could make out the colours and texture and still had ample perspective available to us. The creek was running full and muddy-looking, swollen beyond its normal size given the all-day rain effect.

We had decided, due to the time, the darkening forest interior and that there had been ample sightings of coyotes at dusk and dawn in the ravine, to keep our two puppies on leash. They didn't mind, I did, since I always walk Jackie and he's the most peripatetic little creature imaginable, darting left and right, getting entwined with sedate-by-comparison Jillie's leash, repeatedly streaking off as far as the retractable leash would permit, off trail in hot pursuit of an intriguing odour.

During the course of our walk we did come across a trail-walking acquaintance whom we hadn't seen for months, with her two Irish setters, the younger of which is excitable and given to leaping at people, despite our friend's best efforts. They're beautiful animals with sleek, shining auburn coats and otherwise well-behaved. We talked awhile then separated as we each went our separate ways.

Because of the slippery conditions. we were aware that there was one section close to exiting the ravine, where negotiating a steep incline could present a problem. We usually avoid that area, other than when the ground is completely dry when we can get a good boot purchase on the clay path which is in fact supposed to be a temporary offshoot after the main one was closed due to fears of ground collapse of the bank into the creek.

Bearing in mind the difficulty of that hill, we had meant to double back and take another trail that is less of a problem to negotiate in such wet weather, but we'd forgotten. Confronted by the narrow, steep  trail in question, we decided, because of the time, that we'd just forge ahead and be very careful with our footing. And we were. I went ahead and had almost reached the top that brings us onto the main hill continuing the ascent, when after another firm step, I felt my feet sliding backward as my body bent forward.

My mind raced trying to convince myself that this couldn't be happening, but it was, in excruciating slow-motion as I attempted to correct the slant my body seemed determined to follow by instruction of a malicious gnome cackling unseen nearby. My efforts were useless, my legs kept extending further beyond, in the direction from which they had just seconds earlier left, to aspire toward safety reaching the top of the trail to swing onto the main one.

Pain seared through my upper arm as it became trapped beneath my body and beside the trunk of a tree. Completely horizontal, I could not even stop my body continuing to slither downward, pushing my face finally into the muck. My horrified husband, directly behind me, was trying to stop my slide. When I did stop, I made no effort to rise, my mind and body in a kind of shock, my body feeling too heavy to lift, my arm throbbing from the shoulder down.

When I was able to rise, my husband guided my boots to a better perch on the pathway, and pushing me forward, we both broke away from that trap and ascended the few feet that were left to the top and onto the main trail, Jackie and Jillie beside us. My husband wiped muck off my face, urged me to stop and rest, and soon we completed the ascent, made our way down the street and returned home.

Dinner was good. The rain began again with a vengeance and continued throughout the evening hours. Sleeping was awkward and fitful. And today, meant to be a sunny day, has given us a bit more rain, under the same grey clouds reluctant to move on, where the temperature just wasn't interested in rising above 6C. So when we went out again to the ravine in the early afternoon, all of us clad for rain, we noted that the creek had been reduced in volume, more leaves had fallen, completely covering up the area where I had slipped, and the colours of fallen foliage remained brilliantly beautiful.