Jackie and Jillie are beginning finally to behave more calmly and stay home, remaining beside us rather than rushing out to the road when people go by. It means we can do some work in the garden while still keeping an eye on the two, allowing them to be outside at the front of the house with us. Whenever we feel they're about to dash off, we simply tell them to behave and stay home, and while at an earlier time that wouldn't stop them, now it does. A huge relief.

In my perambulations about the garden, coming across 'empty spaces', I calculate whether I should divide some treasured hostas and dig in some pieces to close the gaps; a favourite pasttime. I check on the heucheras I had transplanted earlier in the week, to see whether they've yet established themselves comfortably, and admire the mature ones nestled into a patchwork of hostas.

Then it's time to evaluate the maturing/spreading/blooming progress of the various flowering annuals that occupy the urns and planters, and I find none of them have failed to meet expectations. The clematis vine that has outdone itself in the number of lush and beautiful flowers this year remains in the height of its flowering beauty. And now, the roses are beginning their spring bloom period. Ample form, texture and colour is maturing in the garden.

My husband was out this morning, clearing away some of the heavy moss that has accumulated around the cobbled patios and walkways within the garden perimeter. And I took the opportunity to saunter around, with nothing in particular in mind, just casting a critical (and appreciative) eye on everything from garden pots to borders.

We're both dissatisfied with how our garden closest to the street has turned out this year, not having been able to acquire the plants we have relied upon to create the architectural and colour pattern that has so pleased us in the past. But given the prevailing dire circumstances of fears surrounding the novel coronavirus and the paucity of opportunity to acquire them, that's just the way things turned out. I searched online to see whether any of the nearby garden centres could be approached other than the big box types, but the only one we're really interested in won't open this season at all.

We set off for the ravine on a briskly-windy but sunny and cool day, coming across some of our neighbours on the way as we strode up the street toward the ravine entrance, then lingering to speak with them, before heading for the descent into the forest. On our way there was ample evidence that blackberries will be in good supply this year in the woodland environment.

There has been news the past week through local anecdotes (and photographs of injuries) of coyote attacks on dogs and on people in the west end of the city. We haven't heard much lately about coyote sightings, they seem to have reduced in numbers in our east end, though there's little doubt they're still in the ravine, since they've made it their home for the past twenty years. Last Tuesday there were three reports of people being attacked and bitten by coyotes. Which only confirms for us our decision to keep Jackie and Jillie on leash as a permanent precaution.

For the last several weeks we've seen an amazing number of robins chasing about on the trails. And the occasional sparrow, doing the same thing; 'running' busily back and forth across the trails, paying little mind to our presence. The presence of squirrels has also visually increased; in particular the ubiquity of red squirrels rushing businesslike about, here and there. Today as well, we noted the presence of quite a few dragonflies, and if anything we're delighted to see more than bees, dragonflies and butterflies can be named, it might only be damselflies.

We also noted that there is now an increasing number of fungi developing. We're waiting for the appearance of the billiant-hued types in bright shades of yellow and orange and even red. But even shelf-fungi with their decorative brown-on-white designs are intriguing. And we are quite impressed and surprised with the appearance today of fleabane already in flower at a date we're convinced is quite out-of-the-ordinary.

Like yesterday, when the city opened up as 'normal' from its three months of lockdown, with shops and malls now mostly all open, it was very quiet in the ravine today. We enjoyed a long circuit through a network of trails, without coming across anyone, until as we began the ascent of the first hill we had descended on entering the ravine, we came across two of our neighbours whom we seldom see there.

We've known them for decades; at first at a time when they had two young boys living at home and both parents were working. Now, both parents are retired and their sons have been living independently with their own families for quite a long time, and there are now four grandchildren. Just by happenstance, one of them asked whether we find the sun streaming through the stained glass windows of the house increases the interior warmth.

It does, we explained, but pulling sheers across them in summer cuts down the heat, while in winter we welcome the increased warmth the sun gifts us with through the coloured glass. They were curious about the windows, under the impression that they had been commissioned, and uncertain whether they just hung loosely or were firmly attached, and how. So we invited them into the house to see them close up and personal.

Which resulted in a tour of the house. We live about eight doors distant from each other, but often neighbours who don't intimately befriend others, maintain a clear separation. All the more so, when their personalities are remote and retiring, so to speak. So it was pleasant to show them around and familiarize them with all the work my husband has done over the years transforming our house into a home reflecting our values and mutual love of art.