This winter, which by the calendar year hasn't actually yet arrived, continues to baffle us. When it should be mild, it's extraordinarily cold; when it should be cold and welcomed, it turns mild. Winter mild means cold temperatures but just on the edge of snow, inviting instead sleet, freezing rain and ordinary rain. When it becomes unusually cold and remains that way in late fall when we could still be enjoying more moderate temperatures we get snow, lots of it and the winter routine of shovelling driveways, slipping on ice, panic to have snow tires installed on vehicles accelerates.

We've had it all this fall into winter. Add to that the early dusk and the daylight hours drifting into darkness before we're really prepared for the arrival of the shortest day of the year and official winter, and it becomes an adaptation struggle. Here we thought that we'd received nature's initial deposits of our usual winter snowpack layering the ground with snow and more to come, to greet the Christmas season.

True, children have enjoyed an earlier opportunity to go sledding on nearby hills and Christmas decorations have been installed on the facades of a good many neighbourhood homes, so that at night bright, sparkling colours along with some very imaginative and pleasing-to-the-eye panoramas of delightful appearance enlivens the night. But yesterday the temperature rose again past freezing and throughout a dark and extremely windy day we had pouring rain washing away the second iteration of our beginning snowpack.

The bright, white landscape was once again diminished and became dull and grimy in appearance, with an emphasis on dark colours resulting in the most drab of urban landscapes. At least this morning there was no more rain; it had worn itself out yesterday and overnight. When we woke this morning it was 6C, and dark. We anticipated that the forest floor would be wet and muddy, the top layer of frost transformed to muck, all the snow festooning the trees would be gone, and perhaps even the ice that remained on the forest trails.

All of that assumption turned out to be quite correct. But Jackie and Jillie were delighted to be back out in the forest after an  unusual day when wind and rain kept us indoors. Bursts of enthusiasm drove them back and forth on the trails as they discovered all manner of fascinating objects newly revealed by the disappeared snow; twigs that needed to be chewed, and countless messages left behind by other dogs to bring them up to speed on neighbourhood canine gossip.

They did meet up with a little Shih Tzu whose stubby legs made the little fellow shorter off the ground than our two long-legged rascals. A brief exchange of sniffs and barks and the little dog turned its attention to us, preferring the warmth of human voices telling him how cute he was, and earning him a few desired ear rubs. Soon along came his human companion with another little fellow on leash, occasioning a four-dog chorus of greetings.

Because we had missed a day of our routine daily rambles through the forest we decided this afternoon to just keep going and make it a longer circuit for the day. Since Jackie and Jillie were more than willing, we proceeded, being spared the need for vigilance on trails where stubborn ice had persisted for the past several weeks. With the snow gone, the patches of ice were now visible and avoidable and far fewer in number. We had left our cleats at home, figuring there would be little need for them, and that turned out to be so, as well.

When we had set out for our ravine walk, the temperature had gone down to 0C, and it kept falling. We enjoyed an all-too-brief split-second of bright sun, and countless following brief incidents of light flurries as we tramped along the trails. By tonight we're expecting, according to the weather forecast, to have the temperature slip back down to -12C. Had it been that yesterday, all that precipitation would have been light, fluffy snow and by morning the landscape would have appeared as though a pure-white cloud had descended to make its home with us this winter.