What an utterly transformed aspect greets my eyes now whenever I glance out the front door. The sere, drab and grey look has been replaced by wonderful bright green everywhere as trees begin to fill out. And in the garden, colour is beginning to evince itself. Granted, at this point mostly from the so-recently transplanted annuals placed in our garden urns and pots to eventually fill out, with each one presenting its own micro-landscape of form, texture and colour. But it's such a sea-change from what we've been looking at for months, it's eye-soothing.

Sad too, in a way. When our old Magnolia tree began bursting its buds into full flower, we were just so grateful at the beauty it presented us with. But oh, so briefly. Already, incessant wind has blown many of the floral petals from their piquant perch on that productive tree to the ground below. One supposes having bright pink petals confettied all over the lawn and walkways is in and of itself a gift from nature, looking on the bright side, and the blossoms will speedily be replaced by the tree's beautiful thick and shiny foliage, but that brief burst of colour is just too briefly ephemeral.

Our younger, much smaller Magnolia in the backyard on the other hand, has just started its bloom even while its older cousin is winding its up. But the backyard Magnolia always surprises us in the summer months long after its first flush of bloom, by occasionally and randomly putting out and ripening new flowers, something the older, original tree never does. Both of them set their buds in the fall, and they overwinter, then in the spring begin to swell and finally bloom. 

My husband was busy all morning hauling our lawn furniture out of the garden shed to be put together on the deck. He'd placed all the glider pieces on the deck, then was unable to find where he had stored the steel-coiled hinges to hang the swinging seat to the frame. I thought of the most intelligent place he could have placed them for safe-keeping, while he rummaged about elsewhere. And my intuition was right on; there they were; he had just forgotten where he'd put them. But in his frustrating search he did find several other things he'd looked for in vain last year, one of which was a round glass top for the little wrought-iron table that sits beside the glider.

Poking about in the garden another delight awaited our discovery. The snake's head fritillery that I'd planted so many years ago in the rock garden had given us a twin, and this year, a third plant suddenly appeared. What's more this is the first year that the original bulb produced two heads on one stalk, so that's a really pleasing turn of events for a truly unusual and fascinating plant.

We decided to head out for the ravine with Jackie and Jillie once all of our work had been completed, feeling pretty warmed-up, with the temperature at 28C under clear blue skies. And knowing how numerous and ravenous the first wave of mosquitoes occupying space in the forest present a challenge at this point, took pains to cover limbs as much as possible with light cotton tops, because we just don't like using insect repellent. And of course, a water bottle to carry cool, clear water for the puppies.

The heat and the mosquitoes appear to have done a fairly good job persuading people that such a destination this afternoon simply had lost its appeal, and we found ourselves enjoying nature as it was meant to be enjoyed; serenely and with attention rewarded. As we were halfway across one of the bridges fording the ravine stream, there was a small hairy woodpecker, flitting from tree to tree, offering us some spontaneous entertainment.

We had looked intently for weeks trying to determine whether the forest wildflowers were all yet in evidence, and particularly looked for any signs of the emergence of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, our very favourite wildflower. It seems every year to just suddenly appear, a pointed-top straight unfurling bit of greenery that eventually reveals its tri-joined leaves and single petal inside of which are longitudinal green/purple stripes looped over its stamen, a truly distinctive plant. Because of the hooded petal most people would fail to recognize the plant; only when the hood is lifted can the colours be seen.

We enjoyed a pleasant walk. Made all the more pleasant because not only the landscape is so intriguing, but the fact that we never know beforehand what we'll see so there's always a bit of expectation as we set out. And rarely are we 'disappointed' in failing to note something of interest, whether it's the presence of a sweet-natured dog that might come along that our puppies may befriend, a bit of unusual wildlife passing through, or the varied seasonal vegetation hailing out to us for notice.