It was dark and still when we awoke this morning. No sun streaming through the bedroom windows, illuminating the morning. The humidity of the days previous more than evident, no breezes stirring through the open window. Jackie and Jillie keeping a distance as they slept trying to minimize their body heat from ours. Looked like plans for a morning round through the forest trails would be a washout.

But as we were setting the table for breakfast, rain stopped dripping off the canopy on the deck and it was soon evident that the downpour had ceased. For the moment. That impression made clear by the sight in the distant sky of more dark clouds scudding along. Still, we thought since the rain had stopped for now, we'd make a break for it. The puppies' raincoats were stuffed in the pockets of my own light rainjacket tied around my waist, and we set off for the ravine.

Yesterday's 35C heat and high humidity somewhat lifted, with a good cooling breeze wafting into our faces as we walked up the street and into the ravine entrance, followed us as we descended into the ravine, becoming less and less emphatic as it met the resistance of the mass of the forest. Its interior darker than usual, foliage glistening with rain.

Before we got to that point, we halted briefly while my husband picked a few raspberries to distribute to Jackie and Jillie, before the plunge. Up there, orderly rows of immature but flowering Elderberry trees range themselves, and in front of them, equally orderly Thimbleberry shrubs, and then come the alfalfas, clover and tall grasses. In among them all have arisen pilotweed and thistle, both beginning their bloom periods; the thistle a pretty pink, the pilotweed bright yellow.

We should be seeing lots of bees around the flowers, but we haven't been, and that's concerning. We know that the wild bees are in residence at their hive high up on the trunk of the large old pine at the bottom of the hill we're descending but neither they nor the hover flies that usually flit about the flowers are to be seen in much attendance this year.

As we pass through the second bridge fording the creek meandering through the bottom of the ravine -- not as full as we would expect it after a night of rain -- our attention is caught by the sight of a minuscule green stem rising out of a crack on the top rail of the bridge. A Manitoba Maple seed has germinated there, but how and on what is a matter of conjecture; its attempt at life will be a failed one, but it gets high marks for the aspirational effort.

After passing through the third of the bridges on our route, we look toward the left and a grouping of old pines and maples, the land undulating in great folds, expressing the geology of this ravine and its forest. It is the very natural layout of the land here, its deep creases, long hills, valleys, alternating heights and outcroppings that ensured it would never be 'developed' as a housing estate, leaving the community with this unspoiled treasure of an urban forest.

Later, after clambering up the long hillside that takes us to a high, flat portion of the forest, as we loop back to a point that returns us to the ravine, something small catches our eye, and as we approach we can make out a tiny hanging ornament that someone with a puckish sense of humour has hung on a branch of a weathered old wild apple trees; a doghouse and a tiny dog emerging from it, swaying in a breeze.

We're busy with our thoughts and light conversations between us, just as Jackie and Jillie are focused on inspecting bits and pieces of vegetation and anything they feel may be unusual. They know this landscape well, and any fallen twig, branch or carelessly left-behind or lost item like sunglasses or a cap, captures their attention, to be sniffed and dismissed. If a really large branch falls disturbing the familiar order of the landscape where it comes to rest, they're alerted and suspicious, approaching with caution to sniff and give it a green light before moving on.

And then home. We eluded another rainfall,though we had our doubts that we would. Any raindrops that fell came sliding off the forest canopy. There would be ongoing rain events during the remainder of the morning and on into the afternoon, but luck gave us the opportunity to enjoy a morning tramp through the woods undisturbed by rain. And the garden, when we returned home, greeted us with a refreshed green welcome, the satisfaction a garden feels when it has been naturally irrigated.