Wind again, roaring through the landscape, whisking off and away whatever remained on the trees of yesterday's snowstorm. On the plus side, a wide, open blue sky and sun so dazzling it was almost blinding. As for the snow, there's plenty of it, perhaps no longer remaining on trees and shrubs, but fallen to the ground where it has been building up for months to a sizable snowpack.

The pair of neighbourhood cardinals were poised on the tall maple next door, a paeon of praise for the day lilting over the atmosphere. A host of small birds, looking like sparrows, flying like goldfinches, popped in, out and around the cedar hedge at the back of the fence in the backyard, and into the bare-branched mulberry beside the deck. The cardinals later took turns on the porch when the squirrels were finished, to take their turn at the peanuts strewn about.

When we left for the ravine this afternoon it was still windy, still sunny, and colder than it's been in a week. Reflecting the usual merry-go-round of weather conditions for the month of March. And tomorrow, just to inject a bit of incredulity (already!?) and gloom (circadian readjustment) we put our clocks forward an hour in honour of that ridiculous, no-reason habit of 'Spring forward, Fall Backward' when we change from Daylight Saving Time to Standard Time.

A nuisance, and an environmental/social hazard best laid away in perpetuity in favour of simply remaining with Standard Time. Those in charge of decision-making on such issues fail to be persuaded by research amply demonstrating the futility of its necessity, as opposed to the societal disruption dangerous to human health the yearly ritual poses. But we'll adjust, we always do.

None of which changes one iota of the landscape itself, just the timing in which we interact with it. Sure enough, most of the snow had been whipped off the forest canopy between yesterday afternoon when we were last out, and this afternoon, with the effect of the wind and the milder temperature that prevailed, leading to snowmelt.

The forest still looked beautiful; remnants of the snow still clung to branches. The creek still ran wide and full, carrying along a winter's-worth of detritus falling from the trees overhanging the waterway on its banks. Banks which are none too permanent, given their Leda clay constituent. We took our time, ambling along the trails, Jackie and Jillie doing double-time and more in their back-and-forth exercises at control of the two hapless humans at the other ends of their leashes.

No close-up encounters with other dogs or people today. When we were high up on the ravine heights we could faintly hear the sound of a small dog's barking attracting the attention of our two who indignantly returned the canine comments to its originator. They sat poised on the brink of the prominence where the hill below descended deep into the valley, with another ridge on the opposite side, exchanging insults with the little fellow too far away to see, on another trail.

When we arrived back home after our outing, there was the usual bustling about by Jackie and Jillie, exuberant as usual, taking to roistering wildly around the house after one another to work off the energy they hadn't quite exhausted in the ravine. Once that was done, they haunted my husband to get into the kitchen, haul cauliflower out of the vegetable crisper and slice away sizeable florets for them to feast on, their favourite treat.