Another gorgeous early fall day. Notwithstanding that it isn't supposed to be this cold yet in the season. But it's sunny, albeit windy, and dry. And the outdoor beckoned us early this morning, so we responded. How could we not? Even if the day wasn't as agreeable, we'd still get ourselves out into it. It's a perfect day-starting formula.

Yes, it's fall. We watched, transfixed, once we we had entered the forest, as a flock of goldfinches -- the first time we've seen them yet this year -- threaded themselves gracefully and as fast as our eyes could catch -- through the trees leaning over the creek at the bottom of the ravine. And as we coursed our way through our usual circuit of connecting trails we several times heard the unmistakable klaxon call of migrating geese.

On one occasion the geese were directly overhead and relatively low, but they move so swiftly, and before we knew it the canopy of the forest mass obscured sight of them as then honked on through the bright, blue sky. There was also a clamour of crows nearby, informing us that in all likelihood they were harassing an owl, but we didn't manage, despite craning our necks, to spot either owl or the furiously mobbing crows.

We'd decided not to take an apple along for the puppies this morning, because Jackie had spurned chunks of cheese before we set off, signalling himself to be in no mood for treats. But when we reached the spot where my husband usually stops briefly to dole out the apple bits, Jackie was expectant. Even though moments before he had turned his head away from an offering of a few late-ripening blackberries.

So my husband strained his eyes to see if he could spot a ripe apple on a wild apple tree. And yes, he found one; the trees that would normally be dripping with apples are sparsely populated with them this fall. Wielding an old hawthorn branch that had long since fallen, he managed to coax an apple from its perch above to tumble below. And the puppies had their tart, mean little apple.

I wasn't in the best of moods. I had celebrated good fortune a little prematurely yesterday. My eye hadn't seemed to be affected by my unfortunate interaction, forehead to unyielding obstacle, yesterday. But when I awoke this morning I knew something had changed. My eyelid below the bump-and-bruise proof that tender flesh is no match for hard ceramic tiles on my forehead, was drooping and the charcoal grey of the bruise had extended down to my eye. Damn!

Careful, now! should be a mantra that never fades from my cautionary apprehension. And then, when we got home it was inspection time. No, not my face, the mess on our front lawn. Yesterday afternoon a crew had worked for hours with some peculiar, huge machine to vacuum out the soil to an impressive depth off our front lawn. Using a kind of steam-pressure apparatus that injected hot liquid, withdrawing the resulting stew of earth into the truck, to enable Bell to permanently (we can only hope) fix their broken communication line.

The lawn, left a mess from the last time they did this a year earlier, despite my husband's best efforts, looks even worse now. The garden, which has given us so much pleasure over the spring and summer months is now paying the price for its hard work. It's looking somewhat bedraggled, tired, spent. It obviously needs a rest. And it won't be long before it will have to be given that rest. In the meantime, there's still perky colour, though some of the plants have experienced a bit of frost-burn. They look far less robust, more delicately vulnerable, even though a quick glance makes it appear as though nothing is amiss.