The parking lot was just about as empty as we've ever seen it when we arrived this morning at the supermarket. Our intention was to get there as early as possible, to avoid the potential of being in the store with too many other people around. And we succeeded. We were able to walk leisurely around the aisles, filling our shopping cart and not having to face a line up when we cashed out. Not that we're comfortable, given that we're mask-attired and I find it difficult to breathe with ease. The space between the top of the mask and my eyeglasses is minimal, the mask intrusive. And I'm sure everyone has similar complaints. Pity the service employees who face full workdays masked.

When I brought our bagful of non-perishable food over to the large bin receiving donations for the area food bank, it was full, absolutely burgeoning. The store management had placed several shopping carts alongside the bin to hold the overflow. And they were overflowing. There was a time, many years ago, when I'd have to lean over the rail of the bin to reach in to deposit my food bag; people were less inclined then to give. But now, with the pandemic, and many people finding themselves in financial straits, the community is doing its best to help.

When we got home the usual drama ensued, with two little black dogs ecstatic at our return, leaping with joy, taking turns informing us how disappointed they are in our casual disregard for their need of constant company. That they have one another is of no comfort, evidently. Soon enough their interest turns to the contents of the crates we bring into the house brimming with food. Jackie is adamant, he must have, he absolutely needs, not only craves, an instant offering of restorative cauliflower.

After yesterday's non-stop rain, today, although very cool, has been sunny. Strangely the sun, interrupted only occasionally by white clouds drifting by, isn't illuminating the landscape as it once did. As we walked up the street later in the day toward the ravine, the forest beyond looked dark. Not that the interior doesn't always have a dusky appearance, but now, given the new slant of the sun as we move further into fall, it's accentuated.

As soon as we pass the group mailbox and veer off the street into the path leading to the ravine trail taking us into the forest proper, we are entering a dimly-light interior. It takes an instant and your eyes adjust and it's no longer dim, and the colours are rich and inviting. At those parts of the trail where maples and poplars predominate overhead, the trails become highways of pure gold.

Jackie and Jillie are oblivious of the fact that they're stepping on gold, they're focused on the messages assailing their olfactory senses from every direction. They no longer make much of an effort to chase after squirrels, though Jackie will stop and seemingly thoughtfully, just stand there and watch nearby squirrel activity. And the squirrels, even when he occasionally emits a little 'woof' simply ignore his presence.

Chickadees were out in full flock today, nuthatches alongside them, as well as the occasional woodpecker. We weren't interested in keeping up a vigorous pace, but rather a paced, leisurely tramp. We've seen on the odd occasion older teens running steadily up the hills for gruelling exercise runs but we're neither in the market to try that kind of thing ourselves nor in the mood to even contemplate such lunacy.

Back home again, we briefly stroll about the garden. Ruined, pathetic in appearance, everything looks as though a scissor-maddened idiot had hacked away at the vegetation. And that's just what happened, in fact. As, bit by bit, a few hours here, another there, I gradually moved toward preparing the garden for its hiatus between fall and winter. Hoping to beat out the first snowfall. Still I've left a few garden pots in possession of those precious bits of vivacious colour; those plants that persevere despite the night-time temperature drops, earn their right to keep blooming.