There's one man whom we've known for years, resident on a street in the far-flung community and a regular hiker who is so tall his waist sits somewhere just below my shoulders. A former military man, he is as robust as  he is tall. He's in his mid-to-late 60s now and was fitted with a heart pacemaker several years back. He seems to be carrying on well enough, though we've seen him puffing climbing the ravine's hills. Age treats us to a gradual degeneration of our critical organs to various degrees.

For most people vital faculties like eyesight and hearing tend to decline when they enter their 7th decade and beyond, and for some even earlier. And there's another thing, we tend to lose height. Ironically enough at the very time our physical conformation points us toward gaining weight, our height is compromised. Since that weight has to go somewhere, we become a little squat in appearance, to put it kindly. 

In my middle-mature years I was a neat five foot in height. I was beyond surprised some years ago to be informed my height had changed. I had evidently lost about two inches in height and wasn't even aware of it. But I wasn't pleased about it, either. The human spine tends to compress with age and bones become somewhat brittle. For our friend, who is so tall, losing an inch or two would be scarcely noticeable. There's still plenty of room on his skeleton for normal body fat to settle, one might think. 

Unless the weight gain is distinctive enough to swell the area around the stomach, as happens with a great many people. I've noticed in particular that older women often have protruding stomachs. On several occasions my first thought was that these women were a little old to be pregnant. Well of course they weren't; their body conformation had changed in that way; excess weight tends to settle primarily around the middle, even though it fleshes out the entire body.

I do a brief daily exercise routine. Which includes touching toes. I've been able to continue doing that though not so long ago I was able to lay my hands flat on the floor while 'touching' my toes. Now I no longer can without straining, though I am able to continue touching my toes. The exercises once incorporated into my routine that touches on the spine are no longer comfortable enough to continue. So I've dropped them, making my previously short routine even shorter. 

There are other routines in life, however. Such as Irving out mowing the lawn today but mostly standing around talking to neighbours passing by who want to have a chat. While he was busy I was cleaning the bathrooms, then went out with Jackie and Jillie to the backyard to begin some garden cut-back, until Irving was finished and we'd take ourselves out to the ravine for our afternoon hike.

The day couldn't possibly have been more pleasant; mild and sunny. Too warm, in fact, to be disassembling the garden.   I'll have to wait for cooler days, when it becomes imperative to remove spent perennials and exhausted annuals. On the approach to the ravine, walking up the street, it seemed surprising, since we see them daily, to note how swiftly the trees are changing. Both those trees on people's lots and in the forest.

We were grateful today that our hike through the woods was a quiet affair. There are times when you appreciate a bit of solitude in the  warm, sweeping comfort of the green mass of the forest illuminated by the afternoon sun. And then, on return back home again, to poke about through the garden in happy appreciation of the defiance demonstrated by some annuals at the seasonal stresses meant to deliver the message that their days in garden bloom are numbered. Just not quite yet.