Yesterday being Sunday, there was no one working at the site where the exploratory geological seismic drilling was being carried out up the street, just before the entrance to the ravine, and beside the house of one of our neighbours. The huge tracked machine carrying a selection of rough-looking, mud-encrusted drills sat parked before the ravine entrance. On either side of it was the linked plastic fencing to keep everyone out, along with a bright sign that warned "Danger, no Entry!"

And just in front of the sign was ample evidence that hikers had risen to the top of the hill we were intent on descending from the pathway that led from the major intersection we wanted to avoid using as our alternate way into the ravine. The wind we encountered yesterday was wickedly icy, with gusts of to 50mph linked to the -6C day. Out in the open of a major thoroughfare the cold is exacerbated and decidedly unpleasant. We were determined to avoid it.

And we did, because we briefly bushwhacked our way along the fencing that had been stretched into the forest to ensure no one would attempt to get around it. We did, though. My husband held Jillie because she weighs substantially more than her brother, and I carried Jackie. We trod carefully around naked shrubs and trees. I had been there once before and a nail that neighbourhood children had obviously used years earlier in their construction of a 'cabin' in the woods pierced the sole of my hiking boot.

 We carefully and slowly manoeuvred ourselves around the narrow spaces between trees and the fence before the drop-off, twigs catching our jackets and hoods occasionally, sheltering our little dogs in our arms from any pokes from branches. Rounding the last tree that the 'fence' had been secured around, we were successfully through, and Jackie and Jillie were free to be their usual rambunctious selves racing through the descent into the forest.

And repeat. We thought they might have been working today, but weren't certain. At any rate it was half-past three in the afternoon by the time we set out, and thought we'd give it a gamble. A huge heavy construction truck of some kind was still parked on the street up from the ravine entrance. And as we approached we could see that the tracked drilling machine had been moved forward which meant we'd have to begin bushwhacking a little further back than yesterday. No one was about.

But the snowy ground behind the drilling mechanism had been whipped into a froth of muck, despite that the temperature was again -6C, this time with little wind. The sky was a dull and opaque pewter tinged here and there with silvery-white, the quintessential snow-sky and light powdery snow was lazily falling about us. Yesterday's snowfall atop hours of rain that eventually turned to freezing rain, then snow, had left a thick layer of icy snow on the branches of both evergreens and deciduous trees clinging stubbornly and looking beautiful.

Even at that time of the afternoon dusk was already creeping into the forest interior. All was growing steadily dark and everything seemed still. An aura of intimacy and serenity prevailed, and even Jackie and Jillie, though frantically rushing about here and there on the forest floor, were uncharacteristically silent, as though they could sense no one else was about to engage their usual sense of heightened ownership of this wonderful place. Their feet encased in little orange boots flashed about busily, the bright colour against the snow catching what little ambient light there was.

When we got back  home, the house was warm and inviting and the fragrance of a lentil-tomato soup simmering on the stove wafted through to our appreciative senses, looking forward to dinner. I'd prepared red lentils, chopped garlic, onion, celery, carrot and tomatoes to simmer in olive oil along with fennel and cumin seeds and marsala mix and added salt, pepper and a half-cup of tomato paste along with several cups of boiling water -- leaving it all to gently simmer. Later I used an immersion blender that thickened the soup to a thick, inviting vegetable broth, hot and flavourful.