No overnight rain, for a change. Clear skies and cooler than it has been lately at night, making for a pleasant night's sleep for everyone. Windows wide open, and cool enough to pull a light quilt over us in the wee hours of the morning. At light's out and before closing our eyes for the night we could see stars out the bedroom window in the velvety darkness of the night sky. Because Jackie and Jillie were so soundly asleep we decided not to point this heavenly landscape out to them.

In the morning our bedroom was ablaze with light streaming through the window. Guaranteeing that an early start on the day's hike in the woods would be even more pleasant than usual. The sky was an uninterrupted blue, the sun warming our backs as we strode up the street to the ravine entrance. Led, of course, by Jackie and Jillie. Such a perfect weather day; no wind, no mosquitoes, comfortably cool and dry.

Yet, oddly enough, no one else out, but us four. The stewards of all we surveyed. After the morning's ripe berries were picked and declared delectable, we descended into the ravine, swiftly enveloped in the cool ambiance of the forest shade. Although yesterday morning was similarly welcoming and many people were out and about with their dogs, the same wasn't true for this morning. We really did have the forest all to ourselves.

Goldenrod is beginning to bloom beside the forest trails, but there's something about the colour yellow that doesn't seem to agree with with the colour prism my camera permits. Yellow turns out green. Sometimes, once a photograph has been posted it will revert to yellow, and sometimes trying to play with light and shade will help, but thus far the few goldenrod photos I've taken have been stubbornly green.

We came across an unusual little colony of tiny mushrooms growing on a decaying, fallen trunk. They were a pinkish-salmon colour and looked like nothing so much as a spilled container of pills. Click. And survey. No pink. The colourful little mushrooms turned out an insipid cream colour. Which didn't detract all that much from their presence, but does seem a trifle puzzling.

The water level in the creek is at its lowest ebb at this point, which is normal for mid-to-late-summer. We keep looking in one little pool beside one of the bridges to see if any of the bright orange goldfish have survived, even though they've been missing since late spring. We know the great blue heron passing through had feasted on them, but we keep hoping that some might have survived. But, no.

We decided that despite the fact we appeared to be alone in the forest this morning, we would continue to keep our puppies on leash. They don't seem to have noticed that yesterday they went about leash-free and today they're back being confined to remain close to us. They can roam as far as their retractable leash will allow, and no further. They seem unperturbed to be back on leash, as though the brief period of freedom they had enjoyed yesterday hadn't happened.

It's just that should anything happen to one of them we would be beyond distraught. We know the coyotes are in the ravine, they've been sighted often enough, and many people have experienced brief and close encounters with them, as have some of the dogs coming through the ravine. My own very brief episode of seeing one just a few feet away -- in a copse of trees and before I could even bring my husband's attention to its presence, it swiftly ran off, and down further into the ravine -- reminds me of their silent presence. 

They're not quiet at night. A number of people we know well have recounted to us that they've heard coyotes repeatedly in their backyards abutting the ravine, howling at night. These are houses located at various points of this extended community through which the ravine runs. And knowing our puppies' propensity to rush off after other dogs when they're off leash, it's guaranteed they wouldn't be able to distinguish a dog from a coyote, one of which could very well turn on them.

Harnessed, then, we made our leisurely way up hill and down, through the forest trails, noting the many little day-by-day changes that take place in a landscape we are intimately familiar with given our decade of exposure. We've come across a few instances of maple leaves already turned scarlet littering the trail to keep company with the poplar leaves that have season-premature turned blush pink and yellow and fallen to the forest floor. It's quite disconcerting.

Up again at street level, leaving the forest, but not yet quite completely exited, there's a patch of Himalayan orchids across from the large areas devoted to poplars, thimbleberries and raspberries. They appeared for the first time last summer, and appear to have begun colonizing the area, alongside thistle and alfalfa. The bright pink of the flowers catch the sun, their colour in contrast to the many flowering pilotweed wildflowers sharing the same space.

Soon, we were home again. To wander briefly in the garden. Assessing the condition of the garden pots, whether they need watering. And to bemoan the pitiable state of the lawn where the grass roots have been consumed by the Japanese beetle larvae. Whereas the mature beetle has no use for grass, but feasts on our many rose bushes instead.

Time for a shower, and breakfast. And then, because we have an abundance of fresh ripe strawberries grown in nearby Quebec, my husband suggested a strawberry pie for dinner dessert. And that's what I soon set about making. Baking the crust. Cleaning and slicing the strawberries. Preparing a glaze with cranberry juice and gelatin. And assembling, and refrigerating the finished product, awaiting dinner.