I meant to try to get out to do some yardwork today, but no opportunity rose to the occasion. So the roses still blooming and the annuals that will have to come up, and the perennials that have to be cut back have a reprieve. I don't know how grateful they might be for that. Our flirtation with Indian Summer has come to an end, no more warmth and fulsome sun, albeit with a generosity of rain events.

Last time I went out in the morning with Jackie and Jillie I took along my little camera. To shoot the last of the flowers still cheerfully blooming. The rose by the back fence is still in bloom; fresh pink rose clusters so lovely to look at, so earnest in their farewell bloom. And at last, after the entire summer has long passed, the sole surviving aster that materialized when I planted a packet of seeds is now finally prepared to bloom. A tad late.

The New Guinea impatiens outdid themselves this summer, as have the wax begonias and their luscious ever-blooming cousins. The little hibiscus plants are struggling to produce new buds to flower, but they'll not succeed in what's left of this summer's blooming season, fast waning. This morning we watched a rabbit on our walkway, nibbling on tiny fallen crabapples amongst a motley crew of red, grey and black squirrels. The rabbit was warily busy and then gone in an instant when one squirrel leaped onto a branch of low-growing juniper hanging over the walkway.

Not only is the entire landscape utterly drenched, the atmosphere itself is dense with moisture. But after some late-night rain last night more rain held off through the morning hours and into the early afternoon. We were busy, there's a multitude of things to be done in and around the house. Irving was in his workshop for hours drawing the cartoons for the roundels of his new stained glass project. 

I discovered, as I was preparing a lentil-vegetable soup for dinner, that there was a leak in the faucet under the kitchen sink. So out with everything under the cupboard and with flashlight and experience the leak was discovered in the kitchen tap's spray extension. Which means a trip to a hardware store to do whatever needs to be done.

We weren't taking any chances, on with rainjackets for everyone and off we headed to the ravine, under lowering grey skies where in the distance a large dark grey cloud was approaching and we hoped it would bypass us. The colour in the ravine is still beautiful but the shades of pink, orange, gold and red are slightly fading. Everything is saturated. There are minuscule droplets in the air, creating a mist-like ambience.

There were a few people out on the trails, no one we're familiar with; a father and two young boys, each carrying makeshift walking sticks thick enough to act as impressive cudgels. The little boys were interested in Jackie and Jillie, but they quickly slip away from close contact with outstretched little hands. But the boys are unfazed, delighted to be out in the woods with their father, a new experience, perhaps, and they were interested in the creek wanting to know if there were any fish to look at.

It's quiet and peaceful in the forest. And quite cold. Nothing like the days of the week just passed when we hardly needed light jackets. Today it's cold, at 11C, and the wind isn't playing any cute games of the light breezes of last week. The game it is playing is serious for the foliage ripe to be nudged off their perches on their mother-tree, and they swirl gracefully down in numbers every time the wind freshens.

Before we leave the confines of the forest, the dim atmosphere of the forest interior becomes darker, and it's obvious that dark, slow-moving cloud does intend to pour its contents over us. And there's our old friend Max whom we haven't seen in ages. So we stop briefly to 'catch up' and cloud-induced dusk envelopes us. We say our hasty farewells and plod on, rain beginning, yet the forest canopy remains still more than capable of keeping us dry.

Out at street level, the rain falls in sharp, pinprick drops that are surprisingly heavy. Small puddles are beginning to gather again as we make our way down the street to our house and quickly slip into the garage while the rain picks up swiftly.