We awoke this morning to a new day, but it had all the hallmarks of the day before. When Wednesday was a day of rain, rain and more rain. When we decided, all right we'll have a day off from wandering about on the forest trails. Simply because doing so at this early spring stage when the trails are mired in muck and there's still some ice left in parts of the forest to make things really interesting, and the rain on top of it all with a porous forest canopy that doesn't even pretend to shelter us from the rain, it makes sense to give it a pass.

Miss a ravine hike two days in a row? Hmm, now that's another thing altogether. But it has been raining off and on all day, and mostly the switch has been in the 'on' position. Fastidious little Jillie doesn't appreciate rain or getting her dainty paws wet. She'll contain her bladder until it's ready to burst before she will voluntarily exit the house in the rain.

She is not, however, the sole authority in the house and after a bit of a scrum, it was decided that we would take our chances and go off to the ravine. Adequately clad, of course, in rain-repellent gear. Including Jillie, needless to say. She managed to resign herself, complaining we were giving her no other option, and off we went in the afternoon.

It was mild enough at 10C, and in a lull we prepared ourselves for a  jolly tramp through the forest trails while the heavens wept. We weren't surprised when we got out to the street to feel raindrops and then an increase, propelling us up the street to the ravine entrance, in the forlorn hope that we would be sheltered somewhat thanks to the overhanging canopy, however nude it is of foliage.

Muddy, oh yes muddy. Before we reached the creek we could hear it rippling and roaring. We could also hear the song of goldfinches as we hurried along the trails. Stopping only briefly to watch the water tumbling through the forest bottom. The approach to the first of the bridges fording the creek is the locale of the traditional holdout of ice-melt. And given the warming temperatures day by day and the generosity of rain we've had in the past several weeks it is truly amazing that the ice won't melt. It's icy surface is also surprising, when all other holdouts have long since turned to mush and disappeared.

We're alert to the sound of owls, since one of our friends had mentioned two days ago that they're around now, flown down from the boreal forest. But if they're there, they're eluding us. When it's so darkly overcast and raining, colours take on a much different aspect; the light, though the forest interior is always in a kind of dusk, is different. It can be darker in the ravine but at the same time colours glow. And mosses in particular appear to have a luminescent glow enhanced by their rain-soaked condition.

There are other natural elements coming into play, now that things are warming up and we're moving more steadily into a mature spring season. The sight of shelf fungi renewing themselves. Their colour, shape and texture is diverse and fascinating. Yet another facet of nature's never-ending complex measures in the continuation of life; breaking down old and defunct organisms to prepare for the emergence of replacements; the clockwork of the universe.

Someone who comes regularly to the ravined forest to enjoy its ambience and commune with nature, obviously has an impish sense of humour. Either that or considers themselves a self-appointed assistant to nature, embellishing the natural environment with human constructions that can be amusing even while intrusive. From hanging ornamental birdhouses that no self-respecting bird would ever use, to seasonal decorations like large glittery 'snowflakes' hanging from branches in the Christmas season. Today, in celebration of Easter, we came across two Easter 'eggs' hanging from forest trees, whimsical and colourful.

There were a few friends-and-dogs encounters, others who came out despite the weather just as we did. And had no reason to regret since, among other things, the rain suddenly stopped, as abruptly as it had begun. And didn't fire up again until we had returned home. One of the dogs is a six-month-old, rambunctious Golden, a happy-go-lucky little fellow who can smell dog cookies a mile away. He leaped around us in a frenzy of expectation, soon joined by our favourite old black Labrador, both nuzzling Irving for more, more...

We saw also that the squirrels are continuing their hijinks up high in the forest canopy, nipping off the tips of branches with their newly emerging maple flowerettes. Struck down by mischief, never to realize their potential, as they tumble gently to the forest floor. Never a dearth of things to see and to note in the forest at any time of year, and spring, most of all.