Last night we had a succession of visitors. Their appearances never fail to generate a bit of excitement in this house. We whisper their presence to one another, lest Jackie and Jillie become aware and rush over to express their opinion at the sight of wildlife making themselves at home on the porch. Quietly, armed with my camera, I literally creep up to the door and watch awhile, then take a few photographs. Sending a mental instruction to one or another creature on the other side of the door to just edge over a little more this way ... please ... and thank you.

First it was Monsieur Pepe le Peu, and that was in fact, surprisingly early, before nine. He arrives in formal attire; nothing casual about his gentlemanly costume. Nature has drawn a precise white divided stripe on the little fellow's back. His head is small and sleek, and the white 'Y' comes to a point like a jaunty cap atop his head. But it is his wonderful tail with its flowing streak of black-and-white delicate hairs that represent Pepe's exquisite taste in flamboyant dress. Impressively graceful, delicately beautiful.

When he has had his fill for the evening, not even a few minutes pass before Baby Raccoon appears, to take his place. Alone, as usual and looking very small, therefore vulnerable. He settles himself down first under the wrought-iron bench, then clears from the bench and splays himself out over a pile of broken biscuits. His supreme self-confidence as he stretches an arm to select a choice piece, and his busy-nibbling jaws speak to the good manners he was taught; chew your food well, before swallowing. Unlike Jackie and Jillie, with few exceptions.

He stays awhile, then takes his leave. And almost immediately he has vacated the porch, up comes one of the raccoon families; this one with five kits that have grown to juvenile size. The Mama is big, and her kits are obviously aspiring to become like her. Baby Raccoon, not with them, though sometimes he is, has a much longer way to go. Something alarms them (me, perhaps?} and they vanish through the porch rails. Two minutes later, they're back and soon ensconced in the serious business of eating again.

This morning, Irving informed me when he came back into the house following breakfast after watering the flower pots, that work is soon to commence on our street in the installing of new fibre-optic cables. The sound from the street behind ours where installation started a week ago, is continuous. Little red flags have been poked into lawns where they will be trenched, including crossing through driveways. On some lawns the trenches are closer to the house, on others closer to the road. It will be noisy and dirty for at least a three-week period once the crews begin digging.

Another lovely day as we head toward calendar-validating autumn. A still atmosphere without wind, but dry, and sunny. This morning the grass on the lawn in the backyard was wet with a heavy dew. We set off for the ravine a little later than usual, since house-cleaning takes place on Monday. It's voting day in Canada, and a lot of people will have headed for polling stations. We're relieved to have escaped crowds by having voted two weeks earlier. By early evening we should have an initial idea whether the country can celebrate a badly-needed new administration.

Our leisurely stroll through the forest trails comes to an end when we meet up with one of our hiking friends who wants to walk together, but at a slightly swifter pace than is our wont. So we accommodate. He's a genial fellow, very knowledgeable, and personable. His dog is his alter-ego. There's always a whole spectrum of subjects that can be discussed with him, and so we do fairly frequently. 

I leave a lot of the conversationing to Irving; men-to-men, enabling me to break off from time to time to notice things of interest to me. The bright red berries of the colony of partridgeberry vegetation, a new outcrop of masses of fungi on an old decaying branch lying on the forest floor. Eventually we part company; his route to reach home lies in a different direction than ours; without our common interest in the ravine we would likely never have met in the larger space of the fairly spread-out community.