So we woke at six this morning to prepare for our biweekly grocery shopping expedition. It feels like an expedition. We leave Jackie and Jillie in the doldrums as usual, complaining piteously at being left alone in the house that becomes a prison when we're not there with them; its comfort transformed into an alien and cold place of misery, to hear them out. But off we went, to arrive at the supermarket at seven, when they open the doors, wipe down the shopping carts and allow only the elderly to enter and shop.

It all feels so strained and strange. Even after four months of this, it's difficult to credit that it's happening, much less that it is required to remain healthy and alive, to avoid coming in contact with threatening surfaces or others who might be nursing the virus internally, eager to escape the confines of their host and make you another unwitting breeding ground as it multiples endlessly and seeks to infect as its mission in life, ending yours.

Wearing a mask is anything but comfortable. It is confining and peculiar to the extreme. I find it difficult to breathe properly. When I feel like touching my face I must restrain myself. Haul out a tissue to dab at a moist nose? Forget it. My husband has adjusted to this new reality far better than I have. His resilience and good nature buoy me.

For the most part, the shelves were full. Selection was good. And it was noticeable for the first time that prices had risen, substantially in some areas, principally vegetables. To be expected. Unexpected is that Dove soap now is sold in packs of three, at the bargain-basement price of $4.95 a pack. There are still some sales every time we venture out; today it was olive oil. We practically had the store to ourselves. Yes there was a handful of other seniors, but it's a large store, and we seldom came close to anyone else.

The Food Bank isn't picking up donations often enough, it seems. The large enclosure to deposit offerings within was packed full. It seems that people are more generous now, more committed to ensuring that when they shop they remember others whose financial condition doesn't permit them to enter a supermarket and buy produce needed to remain healthy, without worrying about the cost.

After breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen we headed out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. It was still relatively cool at 22C, with a cooling breeze. The sun had finally come out from under the low-ceilinged clouds we've had so much of these weeks. On the forest floor as we meandered about, taking our time, we noticed the raspberries are already beginning to form.

Most of the forest's old ash trees had been subject to a terrible blow the last few years with the presence of the Emerald Ash Borer. There were so many dead trees their condition was considered a danger to people passing by on the trails, and three years ago the municipality had sent their parks crews into the forest to cut down dead trees adjacent the trails, removing the danger of treefall and injury or death to the unwary. The trunks were left where they fell, as should be, and now, out of and around the stumps the ashes are doing their utmost to revive themselves, heroically reclaiming life.

Elderberry trees, which the last few years have been establishing themselves alongside the creek at the bottom of the ravine and elsewhere, among the pines, spruce, fir, oak, birch, beech, yew, sumac, hawthorn and so many other species, have been proliferating. And they're now in flower, a pretty sight.

And when we had completed our circuit for the day, turning our direction back toward home, we realized that very few people had been out on the trails. We hadn't come alongside any others at all, in fact, and my husband speculated that because tomorrow is Canada Day and everything will be closed, the community has picked itself up and gone out en masse to shop.

At home, we spent the usual enjoyable spin-about the garden, taking stock, and while at it, photographs because I cannot resist seeing the results; bright, perky colourful flowers flaunting their beauty in the garden. It's a time for Jackie and Jillie to wind down too, sauntering about before we all head indoors, as the heat of the day begins to mount.

I try to be alert, to respond quickly when I get an email from an old friend. They are few and far between. This one is someone who in our early teens and beyond into our twenties was someone whose friendship I valued yet took for granted. We knew one another originally from high school, then carried on our friendship when we had boyfriends. Both our then-boyfriends became our husbands. Mine still is, 65 years later; hers is long gone.

I never thought very positively about her boyfriend; too immature for my taste, but obviously not for hers. We moved away from Toronto and kind of lost touch over the years. Twenty years ago we connected again through my sister living in Toronto who met my old friend when they were both at a dance for seniors. Since then we've been emailing back and forth occasionally. We met up in Toronto again a few years back.

Her husband had left her when they had three small children. Left her for the younger baby sitter. She married again and outlasted her second husband. Her health is now impaired to the point where she gave one of her grandsons her car, and now she uses a walker to get around. I send her photos occasionally of our garden. Living in an apartment on her own, she has been cloistered for months. She is pensive and writes of memories of her youth. We live so differently, she and I. I feel quite badly for her.

Yesterday, I watched out our front door as thunder pealed overhead and lightning lit up the sky while rain pelted down, in the early evening. This has become a regular pattern over the past month or so. Late afternoon and evening thunderstorms, morphing into all-night rain events. This morning it felt warm and muggy, so we decided we'd take our little dogs out early to the ravine for our daily tramp through the woods.

The mosquitoes which were really irritating yesterday afternoon often seem less intrusive in early morning. The sky was absolutely clear of clouds, a beautifully intense blue. Just a light breeze prevailed and already the heat of the sun was pronounced. Though my husband took along water for Jackie and Jillie they were completely disinterested while we were out on the trails.

Everything was well and truly soaked. The sun was uncontested, however, piercing the leafy forest canopy to light up the forest floor in bright patches of illuminated green, and it wouldn't take long to completely dry the sopping vegetation. In the meantime, water glistened under the sun, generally brushed over everything, given that unending rain.

We were in no particular hurry, and just leisurely wended our way through a network of trails in one of our regular loops. Everywhere our eyes fell they alighted on bright pink thimbleberry flowers. It'll be a banner year for the fruit, flaunting their presence in mid- to late-summer. Passing under a group of wild apple trees we could see that some of their tiny emerging fruits had been discarded, lying disconsolately on the forest floor.

We watched briefly as a lone nuthatch made it way up and then down the trunk of a large old beech. They usually accompany flocks of chickadees but there didn't seem to be any around. It was only the nuthatch's rubber-ducky call that we heard, and only its busy little body we saw fixated on that tree.

We did a quick turn in the backyard before heading inside. Just to see how the gardens are faring in all this rain alternating with sun. A formula that couldn't be more finely tuned to give all vegetation a growth spur at the worst of times. And the worst of times is what we're mired in, waiting for some miracle to deliver the world from the clutches of a dreadful zoonotic that has so far affected ten million people globally, taking the lives of close to a half-million people through its dread effects on the respiratory system of its victims.

Yet another one of those weather roller-coaster days. Sometimes nature is beyond kind, giving us warm and sunny days, then when the curtain on daylight falls, bringing rain to irrigate the landscape so that by morning the rain is finished and the sun has returned. A perfect formula for summer. But not always one that accords with nature's plans since she tends more to the spontaneous than the planned.

And today certain has been spontaneous. We have been gifted with sun, sporadically changing places with rain. Wide, cerulean skies, not a hint of a breeze, the sun warming the atmosphere in the microclimate of our backyard. And then, suddenly, even while the sun has full reign, pattering rain falls lightly, tapping our shoulders to remind us not to depend too heavily on what we might imagine to be the perfect scenario.

Jackie and Jillie, if they had their 'druthers, would never be exposed to the rain. Poodles were originally considered to be water dogs. Obviously, they didn't get the message. Jillie in particular will do anything -- including hiding her little self in out-of-the-way places to avoid getting wet. It's difficult to persuade her that a little water won't melt her; she believe otherwise.

So last night she was sternly lectured that she had to go out and finish up for the night before we all headed upstairs to bed. Jackie is far more relaxed about rain and the inconvenience of becoming soaked. Almost indifferent, though not completely, he doesn't mind all that much getting a bit wet, just shakes it off; a typical little boy, you might say just as his sister's attitude is typical of most females, save those considered tomboys.

The anticipated flowering of the Stella D'Oro lilies was encouraged by both the rain and the sun. They're prepared to entertain us for the remainder of the summer just as the peonies are preparing to depart this summer of 2020 for good, only to return the year following. There are four peony shrubs in the backyard, the bright pink ones have little fragrance, while those that are pale pink or white exude a most beautiful fragrance.

When time came to set out for the ravine, we thought the rain had stopped, but just to ensure we wouldn't be unpleasantly surprised mid-circuit on the forest trails, we brought along little rainjackets for the puppies. Plenty of blue sky, and plenty of white, scudding clouds interspersed here and there with angrier charcoal grey clouds. And though no grey clouds were overhead, it was raining. Off we went regardless, counting on the forest overhang to keep us dry.

It did, but only because the rain stopped as we entered the ravine, and what fell after that was mostly excess moisture from the forest canopy. All the rain we've been privileged with has brought out the presence of fungi. For some odd reason the bright-coloured mushrooms we used to see -- in shades of loud oranges and yellows, even purples and reds -- have been absent the last few years.

This is not a day to bring people trustingly out to the forest trails, and the trails reflected that. We had them entirely to ourselves. Because the threat of thunderstorms seemed imminent we decided that a shorter circuit would do us for the day and returned home much earlier than we normally would.

And then we enjoyed a spin in the garden, to admire the luminous appearance of the foliage slicked with rain, glinting back at us in reflection of that golden orb above.

Yesterday was our granddaughter's 24th birthday. It's a good many years since I hauled her on my back as an infant every morning before breakfast through the ravine trails, introducing her at an early age to the sight of squirrels and trees, the sound of birds, and the fragrance of green vegetation. She took some of her first steps on the uneven ground of the forest landscape when we'd stop to rest, haul her out of the baby backpack. Today, on our trek through those same trails we came across someone unknown to us doing the very same thing with his child.

Our daughter, living an hour-and-a-half distant from where we do, in a rural setting, has seen another infestation of tent caterpillars on the trees on her country property. Her small community is in yet another year of drought. While we, not so geographically distant, have had more than ample rain events, mostly heavy and brief downpours through thunderstorms, while she has seen none. Weather systems can be widely international and they can be narrowly local. She fears her apple tree, once hale and productive, may not last another year if these conditions continue.

Contrast that to the condition of the trees in the ravine nearby our house where we daily access forest trails, and where everything green is thriving. Including the trees on our own small urban property. Where I spent some time this afternoon on our return from our peregrinations through the forest trails, using loppers and secateurs to cut back some of the overgrown foliage.

Morning presented us with yet another uncertain weather day; heavily overcast, windy, a tad warmer than previous days with their afternoon and evening thunderstorms. We feel safe and secure during thunderstorms, although we would much prefer not to be caught out in the forest when a thunderstorm approaches. We have been caught in light rain this week, but the forest canopy served to keep us fairly dry. That wouldn't happen during a thunderstorm.

In today's newspaper, an item out of New Delhi caught my eye. It described that during the current monsoon season in India, thunderstorms are rife and violent, and yesterday the death toll for a single day of lightning strikes was amazing, killing 120 people in northern India. In one state alone, Bihar, 95 people died, hit by lightning, while working on farms, feeding livestock, in fields planting fresh crops; children among them.

We may be fixated and health-concerned over the worldwide threat that SARS-CoV-2 presents, and take due precautions the best we can, but a proliferation of deadly lightning strikes is not among our concerns; yet another reminder of just how fortunate we are in an uncertain world at a troubling time in history.

Out in the ravine with our little dogs keeping an eye out for us, making certain that dogs prevously unknown to them cannot threaten us, our two mouse-sized aggressive little bullies make life a puzzle for large, well-behaved dogs in their threatening poses; the conventional Napoleon-syndrome of small facing off against large. As they did earlier in the day when we came across a standard-size poodle new to our acquaintance.

We were treated to the random sight of bright red wild strawberries, tiny as they are and well hidden under other low-growing vegetation on the forest floor winking out to us, some ready to be plucked and shared with Jackie and Jillie, sensitive to the prospect of something sweet and juicy to eat. They know all about ripe fruit ready for picking and enjoying throughout the growing season.

Eventually, all the bright pink blossoms of the thimbleberry shrubs now decorating the landscape will also be ripe and ready to pluck with much appreciation when the flowers have turned to luscious fruit, otherwise known as purple raspberries. Among all that vegetation crowding the forest floor there is also cowvetch in bloom twining its way around other plants; attractive but not edible.

Usually Saturday isn't a day that brings many people from the larger community out into the ravine to access forest trails from entrance points on other streets throughout far-flung neighbourhoods. There were a few other people out on the trails, none we have known for years as regular trail hikers. Under lockdown conditions where parks and other community gathering places were closed people desperate for fresh air and exercise opportunities took advantage of the sprawling ravine and forest and they're still coming through, albeit in smaller numbers.

I always find it irresistible when we return home to turn my little digital camera on the garden, anticipating the colourful photographs that will result, taking huge pleasure from the recording of areas of the garden, while I'm performing a mental 'to-do' list of things needing to be done -- mostly at this point, tidying up, tying up, cutting back, dead-heading spent flowers, watering the garden pots. All functions of a well-spent day.

Friday is treat-day, the end of the working week, when a special dinner is in the offing, and so it's also baking day, when I pore through my memory-bank of what might constitute a delicious dessert treat. Usually by Thursday evening I know what I'll bake on Friday morning. And this morning it was blueberry-cream-cheese tarts. We'd had fresh blueberries for dessert several times and I still had a pint of blueberries left over, so that's the use I put them to. This little dilemma and its solution is rather hilarious, given that we're no longer in the workforce and our time is our own, but old habits are comforting and we're stuck with them.

Preparing the pasty is a breeze, I've done it so often over the years. It does take a deft hand and busy fingers to fit pastry rounds into paper cups for a less messy finished product, but that just takes a few minutes. Before that I had mixed together a half-cup granulated sugar, two tablespoons of cornstarch, a quarter-cup of cranberry juice, and added the washed blueberries. Then I simmered them until the berries were soft and the liquid thickened. Turned off the heat, added a tablespoon of butter and a quarter teaspoon of Amaretto flavouring and the filling was done.

Once the paper cups held the fitted pastry, I deposited a tablespoon of cream cheese at the bottom of each, spooned in the cooled blueberry filling and baked them in large cupcake tins at 350F for 28 minutes, and there was dessert! Then I prepared a bread dough to refrigerate and eventually use for pizza or croissants during the week.

In the early afternoon, under a low cloud ceiling, cool temperature and good breeze, we were ready to go off to the ravine for our daily trot-about with Jackie and Jillie. The sky looked as rain-promising as it did yesterday, when we got caught in a light downpour. So before we left the house we opted for light rainjackets and stuffed Jackie and Jillie's into our pockets just in case it might rain. And off we went.

Now that their hair has been groomed, and it's sleek and short instead of long and messy, our two puppies no longer pick up all manner of organic detritus from the forest floor, so it's a breeze to clean them off once we arrive back home. So that's an absolute plus. More meaningful is the fact that they're certainly more comfortable, not as burdened with excess hair which, since it's black, attracts the heat of the sun, and when it's a hot day, exhausts them.

Robins were busy again scooting across the trails, and they and the local cardinals made no secret of their satisfaction with another beautiful summer day, even absent the sun. Their trills and that of a song sparrow echoed through the forest, adding to the pleasure of viewing the vibrant green landscape. We also noted that the bedding grasses alongside the trails were in bloom, those fragrant tiny white flowers that served settlers well in the early 19th Century as stuffing for mattresses.

Jackie and Jillie hadn't seen anyone else on the trails today. So when we arrived back home they went off on a hunt of their own, to see if any of our next-door neighbours were about. They're always good for a quick notice and head-rub. No one around, so their attention turned to the street in front of the house. Ours is a very quiet street with little traffic and often there's just no one else around, outside. This has been one of those days.

Can't say we'll miss the heat wave. We're back now into cooler weather, much cooler, with gusting winds and rain. Sleeping was comfortable last night for all of us. Of course now that Jackie and Jillie are rid of their grown-in haircoat they're more able to withstand the heat. That their coat is black to begin with is a heat-attractant. That it had grown in to the extent it had given COVID-inspired grooming appointment cancellations made Jillie really miserable. She's no longer hiding from the heat under the coffee table. Back up on the loveseat, her very favourite perch.

This morning dawned cool, overcast and blustery. No need to rush out to the ravine pre-breakfast to avoid the afternoon heat build-up. There would be none. So an afternoon ramble through the woods, our default schedule, returned. It's better for Jackie and Jillie in the sense that it breaks up their day. I've seen cartoons of dogs struggling to avoid their leashes, fed up with being taken for countless daily walks by bored humans looking for some relief from being COVID-shut-ins.

Our routine in the ravine where we access a network of forest trails is never boring, it does consume a good swath of time, and it does demand that we descend and ascend hilly terrain for a fairly good physical workout. Aside from which it's also a social enterprise, coming across people now and again that we've known for years; the community of trail-trampers.

It's the same for Jackie and Jillie when they too meet up with other dogs, large and small, friendly or evasive, that they've become familiar with over the years of their young lives. We've never been bored with the trails and the changing landscape, and nor have they ever been. They did perform quite a bit of vigorous shaking off of raindrops through the course of our circuit today, however.

We did some stops briefly occasionally under particularly well-leafed canopies from time to time when rain picked up, but for the most part the showers were not too intrusive, and made less so by the green canopy above us. So it rained intermittently, and once the sun came out for a short re-acquaintance before it was hidden once again by low-lying, soft puffy white cloud cover.

Each day's exposure to nature within the forest precincts brings us something new to admire. The small colonies of Partridgeberry have produced even more of their lovely little white flowers. And for the first time so far this summer, we discovered, among the blooming thimbleberry bushes astride the trails, their foliage gleaming with rain, the presence of a flowering cinquefoil with its distinctive five-petalled, delicately pale yellow flowers.

Before we exited completely, our pups had the opportunity to play about a bit with a Corgi puppy, beyond enthusiastic to encounter other dogs more its size, and as curious about her as she was about them. By the time we reached street level, the rain had stopped completely, the street well glazed with rain, the pervasive and nostalgic fragrance of rain on pavement redolent of childhood impressions of such days.

And once back home, strolling through the garden with Jackie and Jillie hard on our heels, the colour surrounding us in the flush of blooming roses had been intensified by the rain, the bright green foliage well lacquered just as it had appeared in the ravine, rainwater glistening off the vegetation on the forest floor, stimulating more growth in a summer where we've already noticed the swelling flush of more robust and earlier-maturing forest plants than is normal for this time of year.

As for the cooler weather, it's temporary. Canada's chief weather forecaster has already informed the public that this summer will be one of more extreme heat events, that we've already gone through more over-30C days than is normal, including an unusual number of over-heated days back in May when we had a stifling day over 35C, with more, much more to come.