The increase in new COVID cases is alarming, steadily creeping upward again, and the region's top medical officer of health is warning us that we're facing too much social exposure, expanding our 'bubbles' carelessly, leaving ourselves open to a catastrophic increase in cases which, once gaining ground will be difficult to stop. It's sobering, to say the least. In this new world of ours a nagging awareness of the novel coronavirus as a predatory killer no one is immune from, reflects our new reality. That gnawing feeling of vulnerability makes us feel anxious at a low level of awareness, but never far from our consciousness.

We had slightly relaxed the rigidity of our response, willing to venture out with a little less concern, over the past summer months in response to the news from health authorities that case numbers were steadily declining, hospitals were in good shape, more testing was being done, and on balance the area appeared to be dealing quite well with the epidemic. And then we became aware that people were waiting an average of four to six hours in line, waiting to be tested. That cases were on a steady increase.

So we decided to return to early morning food shopping expeditions when few other people would be out shopping for their groceries. When we arrived at the supermarket this morning it was half-past eight, we hadn't rushed ourselves, but did adjust our priorities. And were rewarded by the sight of very few people browsing the aisles. The number of shoppers steadily increased over the next hour but only marginally; there was no problem maintaining distance.

After breakfast my husband went out with a pail of hot soapy water to wash down the exterior window sills. He inspected the paint, and felt he could do a little touch-up to restore the frames to peak paint condition. I cleaned the bathrooms and set about preparing cheese-filled blini for dinner tonight because my husband opted for something light. And that's because it has turned into a sublime weather day of 24C and sunny; back to summer when we'd thought we had seen the last of the summer of 2020.

When we headed out to the ravine for our daily walkabout with Jackie and Jillie through the forest trails the sun was warm on our backs, the breeze moved about warm air, a perfectly beautiful day. We had at least half of our hour-and-a-half jaunt through the forest trails to ourselves, before beginning to come abreast of others doing the same. Before we'd ascended into the ravine a middle-aged couple had bicycled to the top of the first hill. Their bikes had big fat tires meant for rough terrain. And one of the bikes had a basket, and in it a very small dog sat regally and quite comfortably set for a ride.

They stopped in dismay at the top of the hill leading into the forest and turned their bicycles around. They explained that they thought the trails would be paved. Um yes, paved. But they were cheerful enough over their disappointment when my husband suggested an alternate route some distance off that might be partially paved. We came across others on bicycles, a father with two young boys and they had no unrealistic expectations of the terrain of a natural forest.

Down at the creek where the sides were reinforced with large granite rocks, after a  hillside slump a few years back, a young family was poking about on the creek banks. The mother had seated herself on one of the larger flat-surfaced rocks, while the father, a boy and a girl around 7 and 8, poked about on the rocks close to the creek. The girl stumbled and fell, hurting herself, the father picked her up and carried her up the embankment and her tremulous voice carried over to us as we continued on our way metaphorically shaking our heads.

 e were on our way to the meadow to see how the wildflowers were faring there. The Black-eyed Susans are still in bright evidence, their succession appearance not quite ready yet to slow down. We even saw a small clump of wonky-looking daisies, long after their bloom period in early summer had passed. 

The Himalayan orchids are still going strong, with successive blooming on the areas they have colonized just bordering on the forest, marching down the hillside that was once heavily forested before that slump when everything on the hill had fallen into the ravine after heavy spring rains, blocking up the creek until remedial work was begun. a massive reclamation project undertaken by the municipality that took almost two years to complete.