Cold enough last night when we went to bed to threaten light frost. We closed the bedroom window and put another quilt on over the summer-weight one on the bed and slept comfortably, awakening to a sunny day, warmer than yesterday's cold and windy day -- and the one before that.

When we went downstairs for breakfast, glancing out the front door into the garden, everything looked all right, so nothing appeared to have been nipped by frost. Not even the new plants that Irving had bought to surprise me, leaving them on the porch bench. He'd gone out briefly just before (a late) dinner, for some apple cider, wine, bread and cheese. Come to think of it, quite a combination.

Of course I was happy and excited that he had dropped by somewhere to pick up a few more plants. We can never have enough colour, shape and texture in the garden. And that was a lovely gesture. Except that they were the wrong kind of plants. I needed tall growing plants thirsty for sun. He brought back instead of sun-loving zinnias, sun-shy, low-growing dahlias. So yes, he also bought marigolds that thrive in the sun like nobody's business, but they were clumped together in a permanent pot arrangement, their roots firmly intertwined, impossible to separate, not meant as bedding plants for the garden.

So I looked that gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes it's better to say nothing when what you're inspired to say is dismaying. I planted the dahlias where I had room -- directly in the sun -- and hope they'll survive; could be they'll even thrive ... but doubt it. Everything else looks fine. We could use some rain. Not just 'some' rain, but lots of it. We'll be approaching drought if this keeps up.

We went out with Jackie and Jillie for an early afternoon tramp through the ravine. Unlike yesterday they needed no little jersey but we wore very light jackets and felt comfortable enough, the temperature expected to rise by mid-afternoon to 18C from the morning's 6C. Not even a white wisp of cloud in the sky, and the wind, though brisk, much lighter than the past week's offerings.

Most of the wildflowers are now gone, in the ravine. Oh, they're still there in the sense that the foliage remains but the flowers have faded, wilted, gone until another delightful appearance come next spring. The atmosphere for our hike today, not too cold, not too warm, just perfect; a Goldilocks day. Too cold for mosquitoes, so absolutely perfect for us. Jackie and Jillie, those impetuous little social bullies, informed a few large dogs that they were on their private trails by sufferance. Good things most large dogs just ignore them.

 Surprisingly though, for a such a lovely day there weren't very many people out on the trails, unlike yesterday when it was so cold we wore sweaters and lined jackets against the wind and the cold. It's Saturday, however, and old habit dies hard. Even though we remain in lockdown and only stores considered to be vital for society's functioning, like supermarkets, grocers and pharmacies are open, and many people are still working from home, the working-week syndrome prevails.

For us, so long retired, there's little practical difference between weekdays and weekend days other than that if we're going to do any kind of shopping, it's never on a weekend day for obvious reasons. There was some rare good news from the province yesterday on vaccine doses; people over 80 like us will now have their second vaccine doses stepped up, reflecting a more secure supply of vaccines in hand.

When we emerged from the ravine, walking down the street toward our house, we stopped to talk to one of our neighbours we haven't seen in quite a while even though we never did see him with any frequency. We have warm relations with many of our neighbours and though there was no real reason not to include this person, he was seldom out and about at the best of times. 

In contrast to stopping to talk at length with Mohindar and Imeran who were both out on their front lawn, Imeran being directed by his father to do the garden watering and like the good son he is, complying with his father's wishes. He's back from working in Toronto for the first year of the pandemic, glad to be working from home now and able to do it from Ottawa, living again with his parents, even though his sister and her three children now live in Toronto.

We stopped to talk with another neighbour and this time the conversation ranged all over the place, on a more philosophical plane as we talked about the newly-emerged incidents of rabid racism raising its ugly head in Canada. We're both representative of a minority group, and both Chinese and Jews have been of late targets for psychopathic haters. Plenty to commiserate about between us.