It was nothing less than stifling last night. Nothing stirred. The heat simmered throughout the day and during the night it lingered, refusing to absent itself overnight. Our bedroom window was open and barely registered any movement of air. We've got a small fan aimed directly toward Jackie and Jillie. They're tired, it's past their favoured bedtime, and they fall fast asleep.

But in the morning, while we're still ready to continue sleeping, they aren't. Of course, they haven't entertained themselves reading in bed before falling asleep. That's the kind of bad habit we're fond of practising and they are completely disinterested in. They let us know that it's time to get up whether we agree or not. It's the light streaming through the windows, and birdsong entering from the garden below. And though we'd prefer to linger in bed a bit longer we know it's futile; they won't have it.

And there's no question on a morning as warm and as atmosphere-still as this one, that we're setting aside all other morning concerns temporarily as we make the choice to get out while the day has not yet reached its peak heat for the day. And for today that happens to be 34C. True, there's a bit of a breeze, but you'd never know it, standing under that arid heat of the sun.

We didn't 'stand' there too long. In fact, we strode purposefully up the street, making our way toward the entrance to the ravine, to delve into the still-overnight-cool confines of the forest. And the difference in atmosphere is immediate. That brief stroll up the street as the sun beat mercilessly down on everything below was enough to heat Jackie and Jillie to panting stage number one.

Immediately we entered the forest it felt as though an oven door had closed. Ahead, as we neared the all-enveloping green of the forest, shaded and cool, it resembled a dark tunnel. An almost primitive feeling of recognition washes over us as we descend the long hill into the confines of the ravine; a memory of inheritance from our primal ancestry.

The patch of new mushrooms that had sprung up the day before and was so robust and bursting with life had deflated overnight; shriveled and dark with instant decay. Decay is what it's all about in any event; the fungi living underground sending its filaments deep below and intent on its long-range mission to transform the remnants of an  old tree trunk, its top almost level with the ground surrounding it into part of the mass of generative forest compost, providing the nutritious nursery environment needed for other, new life to arise.

We could hear a song sparrow off somewhere in the near distance. Robins and sparrows rushed about on the trails, as did red squirrels, not often seen in such numbers. Jackie and Jillie are already so heat-affected that they barely stir at the near presence of a tiny squirrel that runs directly across their oncoming approach. As for the robins, they're so complacent and so intent on what they're doing, scrutinizing to the nth degree everything on the dirt pathway that they barely stir as we arrive in close proximity.

More buttercups are now blooming, as are daisies for it's their turn now as the sequential wildflower offerings in the forest. And we come across the occasional little clump of fleabane. Blackberries are still in flower, and there are ever greater numbers of bright pink thimbleberries in flower; both on their way to berryhood. Splashes of colour in the dominating monotone of green shades.

There's no reason to hurry. Our time is our own. At the disposal, more or less, of our little companions. As usual, Jillie is eager to have a long lap at fresh, cool water. Jackie as has become usual for him, is disinterested. Perplexing since they're both equally hot, we can assume. When we arrive back home, a quick tour of the garden, then we pop into the house, wash dusty little paws and go about setting the table for breakfast.