We met another curtain of rain under ragged dark-clouded skies from the interior of our equally-dark house this morning in an evident reprise of yesterday's weather. Another weeping weekend. As far as the weather was concerned, that is. We had no cause or reason to weep, just settled in to a relaxing Saturday morning breakfast with two little dogs eager to share it with us. So they shared an egg between them, as I prepared ours, after they finished their own breakfast.

 

We wondered, just as we had yesterday, whether we'd have the chance to take them out for an afternoon ravine hike. But that would be hours and hours away. In the meantime, they dozed and we had things to do. Greg called to let Irving know he would be arriving within the hour. Greg is the affable mechanic who aside from working a full-time job, on the side goes over to people's houses to change their tires for them, just in time for winter's arrival.

 

So that's another thing on our winter-list of things to be done, completed. Since, by then, it still looked as though the skies were prepared to open up again though when I took the puppies out to the backyard briefly, the rain had stopped, we decided to run an errant. Once again Irving is out of peanuts. He goes through a 50-lb bag in a month. So we took a drive over to the feed and seed place where he loaded the truck up with another two sacks of the shelled peanuts he puts out multiple times daily for the birds, the squirrels, the chipmunks, the mice, the skunks, the rabbits and the raccoons.

 

We first put woolly sweaters and their collars on Jackie and Jillie so they'd be less stressed out seeing us get our own jackets, thinking they were to be left behind. They waited at the back door leading to the garage as we booted and jacketed up ourseoves, all the while emitting faint little whimpers now and again, just to remind us 'you promised we could go with you this time'. 

We have to drive about 30 miles' distance to get to the store and all the way there gigantic, low-hanging layered puffs of dark-streaked clouds loomed ahead on the horizon and directly above us. We could see in the far and near distance where it was raining, but by then the rain had stopped in our own vicinity.  For however long that might be was the concern.

 

Home again, on came their halters and we set off. At 3:00 in the afternoon it was cold, slightly windy and heavily overcast, the atmosphere dark and wet. Each of the hundreds of tiny crabapples on the weeping crabapple tree alongside the driveway held a big fat drop of rain that just stayed there as though about to drop.

In the ravine, rain clung to everything. The fallen leaves underfoot would never crackle again, they were macerated, limp and grey. Puddles remained here and there on the trails, up on the main trail on the ravine's ridge. That eerily beautiful light that intensifies colour shades appearing after a rain when the sky is overcast illuminated greens and oranges and yellows with luminescence. 

 

Early dusk began to fall and as it did, colours continued to intensify and glow. On the forest floor the thick abundance of gathered leaves, undisturbed by human foot and gathered as they fell haphazardly appeared bright orange, textured, each leaf on top of the others with clearly defined outlines and  serrated edges.

It was, for nature lovers yet another manifestation of the intersection between seasonal weather and the natural landscape in all its scintillating, repetitive-but-unique presentations. It's what we would have missed had to decided to forego an afternoon hike through the rain-sodden November 13 forest trails.