Past experience with weather surprises always whispers to us not to believe it when spring arrives, because winter is never quite prepared to make a clean break, ushering in spring and dutifully departing.  Invariably, the break between the two seasons, albeit gradual, is never quite that dependable. Not as long as winter feels unappreciated after working so hard for months to please us. If we're going to be that ungrateful, he roars, I'M NOT LEAVING!

 

Winter teases us, seems to withdraw, allowing spring to tentatively bring in some warmer temperatures, exchanging snow for rain, allowing the sun greater opportunities to shine, but he's got that gleam in his eye: Leave? Why should I? Who's going to MAKE me? Well, nature of course. But there are occasions when she's so busy elsewhere attending to so many other august supreme duties, season-changes slips her notice.

 

And really, winter's right. Who IS going to challenge his curmudgeonly presence when he should long ago have gracefully departed. We appreciated his presence when it was seasonal. Clearly, it no longer is. So when we awoke this morning, to view a winter sight colouring the atmosphere in white, we were not only nonplussed but somewhat incredulous. What did we do to deserve this?!

 

And for heaven's sake, as though to comfort the world, when the snow did stop being hurled about by an icy wind before noon arrived, the sun made its brilliant appearance. Oh, not for long, just long enough to deliver a smile to our faces. The sun, in fact had an appointment with the sky for this afternoon. We thought that when we did get around to being ushered through the ravine's trails by Jackie and Jillie, it would be in sunshine. To mitigate the cold and the wind.

 

The sun too, is a mischievous element of nature's great environmental clockwork. We awaited its permanent arrival to illuminate the day, then finally set out for our daily tramp through the woods because Jackie and Jillie were convinced it was time, time time! And throughout our lengthy hike, not a sign of its return. Until we arrived back home, when it emerged apologetically for having let time get away with its promise. Better late than never, the sun chided us for laughing.

 

Jackie and Jillie had plenty of company now and again through their peregrinations. One fellow joked: here comes the food truck! as Irving dispensed cookies to an expectant crowd of salivating dogs. Irving is impressed when mostly large dogs control their urges to snap up cookies, and instead politely and gently wait until one comes their way, then softly take possession, like a caress of gratitude.

 

One of our friends took us to a spot on one of the major trails where we looked down on an old pine that had lost one of its leaders. There, where the limb had been was a sizeable hollow. And in that hollow an owl's nest. And in the nest, newly-hatched owlets. Irving, who recognizes the songs and sounds of a good many different types of birds, had heard an unusual sound the last few days as we crossed the first bridge over the creek and made our way up to the ridge above where a main trail lies.

 

He wasn't able to identify it, not a song, not a call, but reminiscent of a young bird calling to be fed. And perhaps that sound emanated from that nest. In the next few weeks we may see and hear greater evidence of the presence of nesting birds and their offspring. This tree happened to be located in close proximity to another tree that had once hosted the nest of Great Barred owls. Back then, there was a tree leaning far over the creek, and a mature owl would often sit on a branch with a juvenile owl.