All things considered -- and in this context, 'all' being comprised of the day's weather forecast -- we decided it would be a good thing to delay breakfast and get ourselves out to the ravine for an early-morning tramp through the woods. It was already warm, heading to 30C, and the humidity was tuning up. And Jackie and Jillie had no adverse advice, fully prepared to join us, so off we went. Up our quiet street and then taking a jog at the group mailbox to turn right, and make our way over to the long hill that would take us into the ravine.

The sun had long since ascended to its throne. When I was up briefly just before five, it was already light and the cardinal was pealing its celebratory song heralding the dawn's banishment of the dark night. We were glad to note almost immediately on entering the forest that the mosquitoes appeared to have decided to remain abed rather than harass us, and that was a good sign.

We knew we'd have to get up and out a whole lot earlier than eight in the morning not to see others, however few they might be, not roaming the woods, and we did see a few people and their dogs. The woods was a still, tranquil place, but then for the most part it tends to be. At some places we were completely bathed in sunlight, the pattern of the foliage above in the tree canopy casting its pattern of shade-and-light over us.

It was so pleasant, the air still cool from its overnight low, a slight breeze ruffling the leaves, the trail solid under our boots thanks to several days without rain, that we decided to lengthen our morning circuit and take other choices of interlocking trails that would take us deeper into the ravine and further than we've gone of late. Again, Jackie and Jillie raised no objections, they were well ahead of us. They know the trail network even better than we do, since they examine it far more closely, are more familiar with how everything smells and feels and looks through canine senses.

Down by a tributary of the main branch of the ravine's creek, we saw in an area where year after year, they tend to appear, two small shrubs of meadow rue, returned for another summer visit. And not far from that point, where we swerve right again to ascend another set of hills, a large bird swept past us. Large enough to be instantly recognized as not one of the birds we often see, like the robin seen earlier, running in fits and starts along the trail before us.

We ruled out a crow, and upon gaining a closer perspective, realized it was a female Pileated woodpecker, and zoom! the male of the pair arrived and took over the theatrics. The female flew off again, but the male stayed fairly close. They have no natural enemies and aren't particularly flighty birds, easily startled; they're bold and unafraid. They have a compelling size and conformation; the first makes them the largest woodpecker in North America, the second a form resembling early primitive birds.

I've wanted to be able to catch a photograph of  Pileated for years. We had, years earlier, been up close and personal with one, but that was before the era of digital cameras. Now a digital camera is my daily companion on our treks through the woods. So I hoped for the best and tried for a short video shot, and was delighted when I later saw the results.

We also saw, on the periphery of the forest, the appearance of spring-blooming woodland phlox on the forest floor, amidst the bracken on the forest floor; bright little flowerheads of pale pink. The cultivated species we plant in our gardens bloom in late summer.

Later, after they had their breakfast and the atmosphere began really heating up, Jackie and Jillie thought they'd enjoy briefly laying out on the deck, in the sun, and we had no objections. After our breakfast, I decided to bake a coffee cake to finish our evening meal with, a quiet celebration of our 65th wedding anniversary, served after the turkey breast, roasted potato, cauliflower and fresh juicy grape tomatoes that followed our obligatory Friday night chicken soup and rice first course.