We heard the house rafters creaking last night in response to the blasting wind and the freezing temperature. Nicely enough, sun greeted us this morning. Accompanied by wind, of course. But the temperature had nudged up above freezing and there was hope that the promised high of 11C would materialize and there would be no more of yesterday's snow flurries.

We kind of forget when we set out for the ravine that there are now an awful lot of other people doing the same thing. The days when we could be perambulating along the forest trails for hours and see no one else are gone. There's even plenty of activity out on the street, people walking by at all hours, walking dogs, pushing strollers, riding bicycles, jogging.

At an earlier time in history that would be a normal city streetscene. But not in recent memory. People never seemed to emerge outside their homes. Where at one time children would be out playing in the street together, that had become a quaint occurrence that no longer commonly happened. No one walked along the street, either for recreational purposes or for a brief bipedal shopping expedition.

That's when people had the freedom to do such things, when there was no spectre of a novel coronavirus threatening should anyone be unfortunate enough to expose themselves unknowingly to the infectious virus.

Now, in lockdown conditions, people have suddenly discovered the beneficence of nature, how good it is to breathe fresh air, to feel the wind and the sun, even the rain. That peering outdoors from the confines of one's home is a stifling way to live. Now that people are admonished not to venture out-of-doors unless absolutely necessary, people have suddenly discovered the absolute necessity of getting out and about.

Well, many were getting out and about on the ravine trails today. Presenting obstacles in certain places where the forest presses in closely on the trails winding through it, to achieve adequate distancing, without some awkward step-asides. Jackie and Jillie continue to be noisily hostile to the presence of those they've never before encountered. And the majority of people we come across now fall into that category.

Who can blame anyone wanting to get out and amble peacefully along pathways running through a forest on a sunny day? When vegetation is just beginning to evince itself, on treetops, branches,and the forest floor. And finally, we came across two little very shy trout lilies poking their graceful little yellow heads poised on their flower stalks, above the trout lily foliage. There are thousands and thousands of plants in thick drifts across the forest floor taking advantage of the spring sun and the still-bare-of-foliage forest canopy, but a mere sprinkling of them have yet flowered.

The masts of the tallest trees in the ravine were heaving back and forth, sometimes clacking against one another from the force of the wind. The blue sky was a landscape complete with herds of white puffy clouds moving swiftly across the sky, maneuvering themselves around the sun, respectfully avoiding obscuring that golden disk.

We were out quite a while, not only because we decided on a lengthy circuit to fully enjoy the 11C and sun that had eventuated, but because from time to time we encountered some of our friends and stood across from one another at an appropriate distance, shouting out our conversations, moving further aside each time yet another group of others passed by.

Later, at home, when five in the early evening arrived, Jackie and Jillie began one of their bark-fests again. We had noticed that when a tiny mouse on occasion dashes about on the porch picking up bread crumbs left by the other animals, our two mischief-makers will sit there at the door, silently watching the tiny animal. Although they see squirrels and raccoons every day, and watching them has become one of their favourite entertainments, they must signal their presence by barking.

It's bright daylight now at five in the afternoon, but no matter, if it's five there's the little raccoon. By then the porch floor is bare of any offerings, gobbled up by earlier-appearing guests. So he sits there. Until my husband comes along with another bowlful. This time leftover pancakes from breakfast cut into small squares, along with the cubed bread. The raccoon moves aside slightly on the porch, waits for the refill to be deposited and before the door is even closed again, settles himself into a stuff-fest.