Turns out the snowstorm we were expecting kind of fizzled. It was supposed to start overnight and snow well into the morning hours, but that's not quite what happened. At early morning the snow began falling, at times in thick cluster-flakes. But it was relatively short-lived, the snowfall descending from time to time lightly before once again picking up. There was a brisk wind, the temperature hovering at -10C. By the time it stopped in mid-afternoon we had received a piddling 7 cm, not the 15 to 20 cm that was forecasted.

We had set out just after noon to see what conditions would be like in the ravine, and they were just fine. It was cold, granted, at -8C by then, and the wind was a little unpleasant at times, but the vision before us of a newly-snowed forest was delightfully intact, if not quite spectacular. We were just descending into the ravine from street level, when we heard the distinctive cry of a Pileated woodpecker.

The bird, in fact, flew  high above and crossed the main entry trail we were descending, to settle on a large old poplar close to the trail. This, I thought, was perhaps an opportunity to get a photograph of the bird, the largest of the woodpeckers that make this region their home, and as a species, quite primitive in appearance with a beak equally long as its head. I've wanted to photograph one of the birds for quite a while. Hoping to one day get close enough to manage it.

There had been one occasion when we happened to come by one of these large birds in the ravine, and because they have no natural enemies in their habitat, they're unafraid of the presence of people, and this one certainly was unconcerned about our near presence. It allowed us to approach fairly close to the tree it was thrumming on, and stuck around awhile before flying off. But this was in the days before digital cameras. Now that I always carry one with me when we set off for a hike on forest trails, we've never come close to one again.

And, it seems, I'm not likely to. For one thing, for the most part they tend to edge themselves around the back of any tree they're on, opposite to where you happen to be standing, gawking. So the trunk of the tree protects the bird from your clear sight. This one was playing those games and I waited in vain for an opportunity to see him come around even at the distance and height he had attained. He chose instead to fly off, mocking me as he flew deeper into the forest interior, with his long shrill protracted call that is so derision-like.

The little bright orange goldfish that we were seeing daily weeks ago in the creek have gone. We haven't been able to spot them for the past week or more. Granted, the creek is frozen, at least its top layer, and they could be sheltering from the cold deeper down. We'll only know when spring arrives. It was kind of novel to see them throughout January, though.

Jackie and Jillie were wearing their winter-weight raincoats to keep them warm and dry. While we were out, there was a kind of semi-opaque haze through the forest landscape. And that was the result of the snow having turned to tiny pearls of ice, clinging as it fell, to everything, us included. Because they have acquired a habit of foraging casually for little twigs to chew on while they ramble through the woods, Jackie and Jillie tend to get their muzzles really snow-covered, which doesn't bother them at all.

The only others we saw out were an energetic and pleasant young woman accompanied by a much more energetic Rhodesian Ridgeback, who was so delighted to be out in the woods and the prospect of racing through the ravine with its fresh layer of snow, it virtually flew down the trail, leaving us all somewhat bedazzled at the spectacle of sheer exuberance on display.

As for the Pileated woodpecker, that was it. We neither caught sight of it again, nor heard its call reverberating through the woods this afternoon after our initial encounter. I'm resigned, actually, to the reality that the closest I'll get again to one of these beautiful birds is to be satisfied with viewing the pair in our family room. They're frozen in a window my husband designed and produced in stained glass many years ago.