I awoke twice during the early hours of night and flicked on my bedside lamp each time, determined to discover exactly what it was that was moving about on my face...but saw nothing. Later on, I became aware that Jackie was disturbed; unlike him, he's a sound sleeper. I cocked one eye open and could see faintly that he was moving about uncharacteristically. Then he rose from his normal sleeping position, shook himself, scratched, and then I realized he was pawing something on the counterpane. On went my light again and there was the shape of a moth, still, not moving. I enclosed it in a tissue and disposed of it. My problem solved.

An  unusual thing to happen. Obviously when we opened the sliding doors so Jackie and Jillie could go out before bedtime in came a moth that followed us upstairs. We both fell back asleep after I mumbled an explanation to Irving. 

Yesterday was a low-key day, we just didn't feel like doing much of anything. Irving decided he'd have a try at releasing a too-tightly-wound clock. He removed the works from its case, mounted it on the kitchen table, fiddled with it, got the pendulum going, and hoped that would relieve the pressure on the clock's main spring. The case is much too heavy to carry about, solid black marble, a 19th century mantle-type clock.  

I thought about going out to the garden to do some work there, mostly tidying up, but set that thought aside. Though I would normally do that on a Saturday I just didn't feel like it. I'd send off some cheques online, do some reading. Got around finally to manicuring my nails. Decided to put on a cream-of-zucchini soup to have with dinner. I grated a carrot along with the zucchini. A simple soup; garlic and onion sauteed in olive oil, added thyme, sale, pepper, then the grated zucchini and carrot, a chicken soup cube and boiling water. When I added the sour cream at serving time the soup was a lovely pale pink colour. We eat light on a summer Saturday evening. Irving had marinated herring and a bagel with cheese, I had a grilled cheese. And we had hard, sweet green grapes for dessert.

While Irving was puttering about with the clock he was listening to the radio. CBC's Radio Canada on Saturday evening plays golden oldies, music of the 50s, 60s, 70s. Our era. When we were young. When we used to go to social outings and spend the night dancing. Being out with our friends and acquaintances. Irving often entices me to join him. In the kitchen. Our dance floor is comprised of the tiles he had laid down years ago. They make for a smooth dance floor. We've a kitchen island, a large kitchen, and we move about circularly. Jackie and Jillie watch us with bemusement. Which, after a half-hour or so, becomes slightly desperate. They would appreciate their dinner. 

Our puppies were eventually mollified, when they got fed. And we had our dinner. And decided that we would watch a film. so we settled down to do just that, an adaptation on video of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None. British productions beat Hollywood by a wide mile. It was an outstanding period piece, good acting, and a fine lesson if any were required, of the vicissitudes of life. Agatha Christie's fertile mind introduced many angles of the human psyche in her storied novels. A pity she had such a sad personal life.

Another beautiful late summer day dawned this morning, a little warmer than the previous two days, partially overcast skies, but the clouds were buoyantly white and beautiful in an otherwise-blue sky. It was 20C when we toddled up the street toward the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, in a light breeze, sun warming our backs. At the time of the first hill we descend into the forest fall asters dominate on one side of the trail, the Himalayan balsam colonize their territory on the opposite side.

Jackie and Jillie go directly off leash once we're away from the street and they head straight for the forest. There are all kinds of messages awaiting their keen olfactory sense to be deciphered, informing them of the neighbourhood canine gossip among other things. There's also the challenge of the presence of squirrels they're free to chase after following the humiliating hours they spend in the course of a day watching countless squirrels disport themselves on our porch, contesting one another over ownership of the peanuts put out for them.

Strangely enough, they'll watch the chipmunks, red squirrels and grey squirrels, birds large and small, but it's uniquely the presence of black squirrels -- blacker than their own black coats -- that seem to spur our two puppies to paroxysms of barking rage. Easy to understand where the British term "barking mad" comes from.

There were another few flybys today, echoing loudly across the sky. The Snowbirds flying in formation just as Canada geese setting forth in their annual fall migration will soon begin to send their message that fall is inevitably heralding the entry of winter. The difference of course being that the Snowbirds are memorializing a dreadful event of immense magnitude in its bold and terrifying execution in destroying lives of innocents, while geese are responding to nature's imperative of seasonal change. Both in their own ways, however, reflecting what nature has designed; in one instance, renewal, in the other destruction.

We saw for the first time a tiny Yorkie-type dog whom Jackie and Jillie towered over. The little fellow, unfazed by the presence of two small dogs infinitely larger than he was, was fearful, his tail under his belly, but he was plucky and he charged them, surprising our two little bullies. After which they settled down to be friendly toward one another while we spoke with its human. Another of nature's perpetual message-metaphors.