Over the last week or so, we had begun seeing signs that winter conditions in the ravine were having an impact on dogs' feet. Now and again we would come across little trails of blood from the cut pads of dogs rambling along circuits through the forest trails. It's a disturbing phenomenon we see every winter. There's a good reason why mushers usually fit some kind of boots over their huskies' paws in winter months. A sign that fluctuating weather conditions have created a cutting-ice hazard for dogs' paws. Areas of the trails that are uneven, icy and sharp are unkind to exposed flesh.

That danger has been expunged for now, until the conditions re-occur, as they no doubt will, since we're nowhere near saying goodbye to winter this 2019-20 year. Yesterday there was a full-blown snowstorm that lasted all day long. Full-blown in the sense that heavy snow was accompanied by blasting winds. And cold, we needn't forget the cold. All three make quite the impression when they're acting together to make life miserable. There were police warnings to stay off the road, if possible.

My husband went out to the library early in the day, and when he returned he reported road conditions to be fairly bad, but worse was walking conditions and the facial exposure to sharp wind hurtling snow at exposed skin, as though they were minuscule frozen missiles. So we decided to forego a walk in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. We bypassed a consultation, just made the decision with no advice solicited from them. On the assumption that the depth of the snow accumulation would certainly create difficult walking conditions, and the cold-snow-wind triumvirate would present us with a bit too much of a challenge.

We woke this morning to a different world, brightly illuminated and cheerful. And, at -17C, fairly cold, with a light wind and since my husband had shoveled the day before just as nightfall entered the picture, there was nothing to be done other than to decide to brave the cold and consider that we could manage nicely enough with the reduced wind as long as we wore good protective clothing. We'd had lighter snowfall the night before which had developed into that all-day snowstorm. That morning my husband roused himself at 7:00 a.m. went out to shovel, and dove back into bed afterward.

Jackie and Jillie kept agitating all yesterday morning to go out into the backyard, and the first time they did, they were overcome with the jollity of a fresh new layer of snow for them to romp through. Each time they went out after that they were less 'jolly', but it was obvious that it was the sun that attracted them. Eventually, they settled down on the inside of the glass doors to the deck, to revel in both warmth and sun.

Not long afterward they were extremely biddable as we dressed them in wool sweaters, waterproof overcoats, halters and boots. We did the same for ourselves, sans halters. And off we went. The minor trails had been traversed as had the main ones, the difference being that the less-used trails were one-step-ahead narrow and the others wide. It was cold, but tolerable, about -14C at that juncture. Yesterday's wind that had accompanied the snow had blown as much of the snow as it could around the landscape, and off the trunks of deciduous trees, while snow remained plastered on the evergreens.

We meant to make a longer circuit of our time in the ravine, and then had to reverse that decision when we noted that despite the boots, because of the extreme cold, Jackie seemed to be lifting one of his legs, a signal that he felt cold. My husband picked him up to carry him along for a bit, as we turned back to resume a shorter circuit, but the little fellow wanted to go back down and be picked up by me. Even if my husband walks him on his leash, he prefers me to hold the leash.

Oddly enough, it's my husband Jackie curls up on, to sleep, not me. So figure that one out. We continued on our way, occasionally coming across others out and about, but the trails were strangely bare of the presence of most anyone else, despite that it's a Saturday. The creek that had been running free just two days ago is once again freezing over, even those areas upstream where it's actively running.

Quite the colour contrasts, looking up through the canopy at the wide, blue sky, crows circling high, the occasional chickadee heard in the branches of snow-clogged spruce and fir. Tree trunks mostly dark, but for the occasional birch and beech, and the sun sailing high in the early-afternoon ocean of sky, its rays bouncing through tree boughs, to settle on the forest floor, illuminating the bright, white coverlet of new snow.