We have it on the very best, most reliable authority now that the die is finally cast and there is no going back -- at least not until next November-December. Proof is in the now-rising temperatures and the palpable warmth of the spring sun, a combination along with rain that is moving irrevocably toward resuscitation of our still-slumbering garden.

We remain only slightly skeptical. To fully cement the impression that our wistful pleadings to nature have been received and acknowledged, we really do have to see the crowns of deciduous trees beginning to fill out with foliage. A tree unleafed is a tree in mourning. In the meanwhile, we're moderately satisfied with the tardy arrival of the warmth.

And the sun blazing its golden embers on the threshold of a palatial sky, rich with ocean blue. All of which has made quite the impression on Jackie and Jillie, two little housebound dogs. Who suddenly have conceived an affection for the bare wooden boards of the deck, abandoning the warmth and comfort of the family room sofa like fickle lovers.

Now, as soon as the sun swings around from the front of the house to the back, their eager little faces tell us it's outside-time, time to slide away the doors and allow fresh, sun-warmed air to penetrate the house and give two little dogs the opportunity to lounge on the deck, sniff the air and soak up the sun. Their notion of sublime relaxation.

And then another message is relayed and deciphered, the wish to be off and into the forest, and so we oblige as we're meant to do, and off we went. With a high of 14C, just light windbreakers for us and none for Jackie and Jillie to their great relief. They're a little perplexed of late, however, that their once-serene forest landscape has become a peculiar venue. They no longer can claim the ravine and its forest trails as their very personal getaway.

There happens now to be an abundance of challengers to the title of ravine habitues. Partially word-of-mouth to the COVID-restless that despite the closure of all the manifold area parks in the community, there remains a natural urban forest capable of absorbing the brief presence of many and that many, wishing to breathe freshly-scrubbed air and exercise their limbs have the option of accessing this primary, unspoiled jewel.

As we proceed through the long-familiar trails, looking up at the forest canopy, but for the evergreens, the crowns of the deciduous give little hint yet that they're working at another green wardrobe for the coming of summer. But closer to ground level where our eyes search desperately for any signs that foliage will eventually appear, there are little rewards in the sightings of minuscule, emerging leaves.

And for heaven's sake, isn't that a familiar bit of vegetation in an area we well know to host great clumps of trout lilies? Those oblong, vaguely fish-shaped leaves with their little splotches of pale orbs decorating the foliage so they resemble trout, have the early-risers already made their presence?! With more, many more to come....

Bicycles and bicyclists. We encounter them in increasing numbers. Even when we don't see them directly we see the evidence they leave behind, of the abrupt braking as they descent the hills, leaving hillocks of detritus to punctuate the impressions made by their tires in the still-muddy trails. Caution required; very few audibly signal their presence as they speed forward behind you. And often, when you stop and wait, leaving that credible distance, you keep waiting until the second, the third and the fourth go by.

Attaining the main ridge with the hills falling away on either side encounters are even more frequent of family groups, friends, young lovers, children and their minders. No straight forging ahead, mind in relaxed leisure, the woods silently observing your passage. Now an intricate dance of courtesy-avoidance informs our minds of the necessity of being constantly alert.