My computer has decided it  has been working too hard lately, and has as a result been balky, stubborn, slow to respond, evidently determined to deliver a message that it isn't prepared to be treated like a communication workhorse any longer. I haven't given too much thought actually whether I've treated it too harshly, just more or less take it for granted it's there for me to take advantage of as a communication tool that I rely upon. Decided to give it a rest today, and shut it down at the power bar in the morning, to see if that would appease its righteous sense of annoyance. It hasn't, although perhaps it's relenting, and beginning to come a round a little...

Outside in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie this morning, everything looked desperately dismal. No more flowers, bare trees, all too sad. And then I looked about again and realized there's still colour. The Purple Smoke tree hasn't lost one leaf yet. And they are, those leaves, like the name of the tree, sturdily purple. There's colour, after all. Another little thing I've taken for granted, scarcely noticed.

 

And for heaven's sake, sitting right beside it is an old -- again, taken-for-granted burning bush, and its leaves have been turning red, and nor has it lost any of its foliage, unlike the corkscrew hazel and the magnolia and the weeping mulberry. All of which in concert with one another, in another type of standoff -- this time with nature and the seasons -- speedily lost their foliage with the onset of night-time frosts.

Best of all, and originally planted close to the back corner of the house, beside the smaller of our two garden sheds, hoping it would be sheltered there from weather excesses in acknowledgement of Japanese maples not being hardy to our northern growing zone, our little maple planted long ago and experiencing some level of dieback every spring, and which had grown spectacularly this spring, in a surprise turn of events, is now a blaze of red, and not one leaf has yet detached itself.

It's far different in the forest. There, the dark, gaunt sentry-like figures of recently denuded trees, stretch toward the sky, looking for the time being newly bereaved. All their foliage has tumbled to the forest floor. For a while we appreciated that phenomenon, for as long as their vibrant autumn colour lasted, now fast turning to an overall homogeneous blah! grey. We take all that for granted, too. But there are exceptions. Immature beech, ironwood, sometimes oak and maple tend to hold on to their leaves throughout winter.

And there are shrub-sized and taller trees in the forest whose foliage remains yet bright green. They're the cadre of invasive privet that have made themselves at home in the forest landscape. They bear fruit in the summer with the appearance of dark blue berries, and known to be poisonous. 

On occasion Irving will forget to take along a bag of doggie cookies. He doles them out circumspectly, offering the very small ones now and again as treats to Jackie and Jillie since they are, after all, very small dogs. It has become routine. They take it for granted that when we're out in the ravine it will mean they have delectable treats to eat, along with the excitement inherent in traipsing through the forest trails and meeting up with their friends.

On those occasional times when the cookie bag is forgotten, Irving feels stricken when other people' dogs, confident that here comes the Cookie Man, sidling trustfully up to him, are disappointed. It happened yesterday, when he had to explain sorrowfully to two tiny dogs that there were no cookies to dispense. One of the two, about half the size of our little fellows emitted disbelieving cries of anguish.

That didn't happen today. As often occurs, suddenly a dog we know will suddenly appear, cheerfully acknowledge us, and sit down beside Irving, patiently awaiting cookie distribution. As though saying, hi, glad to see you, and just in case you're handing out treats today, I will gratefully accept your contribution to my day's fulfillment...