When we hauled ourselves out of bed at six this morning, it was to start the day early, but not for the purpose of getting out to the forest trails while the cooled-down 17C temperature of night lingered, but to arrive at our usual supermarket at seven, prepared to do the grocery shopping before an influx of later-arriving shoppers. To ensure, of course, that we weren't exposed to crowds, during this time of COVID overtaking the world as it threatens to wipe out the existence of the elderly frail and health-compromised in any population.

Masks on, gloved, we moved around the mostly empty aisles (of shoppers, not food), my husband reminding me when I've begun to go against the aisle-directional arrows, forcing me to pass through aisles I would normally ignore, the shelves of fast food, soft drinks, and other junk food. So we sweep down those aisles with our food-laden carts to access the aisles we're interested in, moving up and down them in directions opposite to what I'm accustomed to. And discover that many aisles have undergone a transformation between our last shopping expedition and this one.

Items moved here and there, for no apparently intelligent reason, completely re-arranged, and a sudden increased proliferation of ethnic foods of all descriptions, though we've never really noticed a rise in the shopping habits of people of ethnic origins. Condiments and products whose use is a mystery to us, all an effort to be all-inclusive, laudatory but it seems in this part of the city, peculiar. There's a strange, quiet aura in the store, not just that there are so few shoppers at this time of morning, but as though everyone present is touched with a sense of imminent disaster. The older cashiers we've known for years are now absent, in their place young men, lacking none of the skills and personable traits of the women they have replaced.

We return to an anxious little pair of dogs, prepared to help us unload the groceries and put everything away. Prepared as well for their breakfast, and to help us with ours, as well. Following which, after cleaning up and dawdling, we all embark on a ravine tramp, the day still relatively cool and breezy before noon, sun out now and again although darkish clouds are moving along from west to east.

Today, we see for the first time in ages, on two separate occasions, old familiar walking-trail companions. Nothing wrong with our puppies' memories, they recall the women and their canine companions very well, excited to see them and to reminisce just as we did. Time passes, there are so many people with whom we've become acquainted through the years of striking off through these forest trails, sometimes you forget not having seen familiar faces, then it strikes you when you do.

As for the natural scene surrounding us, little vignettes present themselves as they invariably do; cowvetch working its way up and around the raspberries beginning to ripen. Staghorn sumacs reaching their bright red candles to the sky. Thimbleberries still flowering, their lovely pink blooms waving in the steady wind.

Though it's cooler and extremely pleasant, my husband took along water for the puppies. On the really heated mornings, despite panting from the high humidity, Jackie and Jillie will often be disinterested in refreshing themselves, lapping up cool water. Oddly enough, today is not one of those days, they're bright and unhindered by the more reasonable heat level, not the least bit panting, and decide they really, really would appreciate that nice cool drink.

Back home again, to wander through the garden. After the puppies been settled down, and we've cooled down from the exertion of our woodland ramble, I put together a bean-and-vegetable salad, make a vinaigrette, refrigerate it, and finally I take myself back out to the garden to tidy things up a bit, taking advantage of a cooler atmosphere and occasional cloud cover, and while I'm deep in the business of cutting back spent roses, rain begins to fall.