It's December, though not yet officially winter -- not for another three weeks will we be introduced to the shortest day of the year, and nights are really cold -- so time to oust the intermediate duvet on our bed and haul out the winter-weight one. The one that's light and puffed and warmly luxurious in its guarantees for a good night's sleep. 

Irving just happened to be upstairs in our bedroom, using his stud-finder to begin the work he set for himself to hang a light fixture from our bedroom ceiling. So he helped me fit the duvet into its cover, both of us flipping and waving the duvet into its cover until it was properly spread. Takes a bit of energy to get it done right.

Jackie and Jillie as usual were nosing about wondering what all the fuss was about. Mostly it was they who were fussing, having a shrill barking fit when Irving brought up a ladder from the basement, and every time he moved it about, upstairs. It was a monster that didn't faze them, they were prepared to do noble battle to defend Irving whenever the monster began grappling with him.

Today was another one of those dismally dark pre-winter days of non-stop rain, a dense, grey cloud cover and constantly dim light. If proof were ever needed we hadn't enough light in the bedroom, even with our bedside lamps and another sitting on a dresser on a central wall, this was it. We resigned ourselves, given the incessant rain, to a no-ravine-hike day for Jackie and Jillie.

I was  still glowing today from the success of yesterday's savoury meat pie. The night before, we'd had salad and potato latkes for dinner, and latkes at Chanukah is a guaranteed pleaser. It's all the other meals that make up a varied nutritious diet we sometimes have problems with. And a meat pie featuring broccoli would be one of the troublesome ones. I had no problem tasting the broccoli, but Irving said he could barely make it out, and he loved the pie, the best of its kind, he told me, that he's ever eaten. And he ate it all. 

Today's laundry day and it's an all-day chore, averaging four loads all of which have to be extracted from the dryer and neatly folded and put away. For some peculiar reason, it's the folding of the laundry that is my least-favourite household chore. Doesn't make much sense, but there it is. I don't mind ironing one bit, but folding? yech!

By the time half-past three rolled around it was still dark, but the rain had eclipsed itself. The clouds just got fed up and tired with all that weeping. Gone was the snow that had fallen the day before, but then there wasn't much of it to begin with. The sky failed to reveal any reassurance when we tried to read the clouds, since though we saw some patches of blue, we also saw an oncoming batch of storm clouds not grey but black. 

We'd give it a try, we said, and on came the jackets, rain jackets for the puppies, rain-proof winter ones for us. The temperature had risen to 5C, from its overnight low of-6C.  Parts of the forest trails had turned from rock-hard to spongy-wet and we anticipated on our return home that we'd be a tedious while cleaning off eight little paws of acquired muck.

The creek was running hard and wild from all that rain refreshing its flow; turbulent, dark but no odour of swamp gasses. A light grey mist was rising from the creek and being caught by the trees hanging over it, disappearing as we climbed hillsides, leaving the vicinity of the creek. Uphill  traction was good, yesterday it wasn't, slick with newfallen, wet snow. In fact, as we rounded out our hike yesterday taking a less-travelled route that is often muddy and slippery because yesterday it would be hard and easily negotiable, we found otherwise to be the case.

It's a route like a roller-coaster; a descent into a steep valley, which leads to two sharply consecutive hills to be climbed and alternately descended. The last of the hills is a bit tricky because it's often slick. Our attention had been riveted on a large old pine that had been on a gradually increasing lean for years, until it ended up being supported by smaller trees from its perch on a hillside, leaning over toward another hillside. When we saw it yesterday it was completely collapsed, flat on the forest floor, not far from the trail we were on, the trees it had leaned on for years looking the worse for wear.

And as we began to ascend the last hill where we have to carefully pick our way upward, Irving took the slicker route while I remained with the one that gives some difficult, but safe footholds. He slipped and fell, twisting his body as he fell, sticking one of his elbows out to catch himself from falling directly on his face. That kind of fall always produces a !whomp! that takes your breath away. It makes me feel ill momentarily when it happens. He was fine, didn't come down hard anywhere, no resulting pains or aches, much less bruises; we went out well padded. But we'll give that route wide berth now, while the weather is so uncertain...

And then, as we continued on, finally making our way up the last hill to the street, the clouds had parted, there was blue sky and there again, was the day-long absent sun, preparing to set, casting a golden glow on the now-white billowing clouds.