We're becoming spoiled, all of us. So accustomed to the excitement of seeing a raccoon or two on the porch these days that we've become rather blase about it. Of course, it's still amazing to us to see these clever woodland creatures come around. Again, in broad daylight, one fellow sat on the porch in an expectant manner. All the offerings had been taken. By the squirrels, the birds, or even a raccoon guest that preceded his presence.

Alerted to the situation my husband hurriedly toasted some bread, cubed it, and put it out. The little raccoon retreated slightly but remained on the porch, patiently waiting until my husband had sprinkled everything on the porch floor, and then shut the door. And only then did the raccoon shift closer, and begin scooping up his due.

Even Jackie and Jillie, at first when they began coming around, furiously barking at their presence, now no longer emit other than a half-hearted bark between them. They'll stand at the glass door and watch quietly, far more of an improvement in their manner as a result of familiarity which we very much appreciate. If I tell them to hush now, they will. Raccoons, like all of us must have felt yesterday's warmth and sun to be the final herald of spring.

This morning I poked around in the garden a bit, Jackie and Jillie following, curious about what I was up to. Up to? Nothing. Not much work to be done since it was all frenetically undertaken last fall. But I was curious about how things are faring, looking for red buds on the roses, seeing the tops of green spears of the lilies and the irises emerging through the garden soil. Too soon for any action from the clematis vines.

But the early spring bulbs are coming back to life. The miniature irises, the crocuses, and the scilla, bright blue and brilliantly lively. Though grape hyacinths are early as well, they're quite a bit behind the scilla. As are the wood anemones. And while the tulips are erupting it'll be a while yet before they bloom.

The Corkscrew Hazel with its twisted branches is always fascinating to look at during this bare season of expectation. It has set its catkins, but no sign yet of any green; it's a slowpoke. As is the weeping Mulberry, yet another tree with convoluted branch systems drawing attention to its unique architecture.

After awhile Jackie and Jillie grow impatient with this kind of slow-motion inaction, and deliver some typical signals of enquiry such as what's next?, and what do we do now>, and when is enough enough?, and how about a ramble through the forest, chum? So finally we agreed, and off we went with them to the ravine; for some reason or other they prefer to wait for us rather than to set out on their own....

And my, my, what a lot of glum faces. Worn by people new to the ravine, but desperate to get out of their homes during this COVID-inspired lockdown. They cannot access area parks of which there are many, for they're all closed. They cannot go to their gyms because they're classed as 'non-essential', which is how I think of them in any event. As an alternative to walking on the street, many people on a Sunday appear to select an encounter with nature, strolling through forest trails.

For many an entirely new experience. At a time and season when the woods are not exactly at their most attractive. Perhaps what goes through the minds of those unfamiliar with the seasons and nature and a forest, is that the landscape is not very attractive; in fact downright dreary looking, absent colour and attractive forms, and why did they bother to come in only to get their nice clean shoes full of muck?

We just do a little mental shrug at those who studiously avoid locking eyes with other people, who somehow fail to hear a cheerful greeting from others, and simply walk on wearing their resentment loud and clear like an impermeable cloak of hostility saving them from the unwanted presence of others who are obviously enjoying their turn on the forest trails on a warm but overcast spring day.