I was fairly confident this afternoon as Irving went out the door to drive to a nearby plaza for a few errands, that I would be able to thread a needle if I really, really made an effort. I made an effort. And another. And another. In the end, unable to complete the task to success, I had to wait until he returned and then with ease, he threaded a needle for me. I had to do a little bit of mending. And I found myself as of yore, trying to bite off the thread when I had finished. Didn't work. Even the sharp edge of my front  teeth are no longer able to cut thread. So I scissored the thread. The funny thing is, although this has happened many times before, I still automatically raise the thread to my mouth to bite it off.

 

 

Nature itself seems a little off. When we were returning home from our late afternoon hike through the forest yesterday, we heard that old familiar honking sound and there, above us, was a lengthy line of Canada geese heading south. I cannot ever recall such a late migration. Our milder-than-normal weather has kept the rivers that cross through between Ontario and Quebec from freezing. So obviously waterfowl still feel at home in the slowly-freezing, but yet-open water. Now we're heading into the deep freeze, ducks and geese are finally leaving.

 

 

While Irving was busy doing some light vacuuming through the house I decided we'd have a cheesecake for tonight's dinner. A white-chocolate cheesecake; the chocolate and cheesecake together are complementary, I feel. And Irving hasn't complained. It takes a while to bake, even in my little convection oven, but once done, we went out a bit earlier than usual to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie.

 

 

It feels a whole lot colder. Even though we enjoyed full sunshine today and a light wind. The trails are now well frozen, frost beginning to creep back into the soil of the forest floor. Perhaps it shouldn't be called 'soil', since it's mostly Leda clay. Even so, it's productive enough to host a far-ranging urban forest. cutting a swath through the community southeast of the central part of the city.

 

Because it was so bright we decided to leave Jillie off leash. We still haven't heard of any coyotes being sighted in the ravine yet, though they may yet appear. Jackie tends to listen when we call him back toward  us, but Jillie is a stubborn little one and comes if she feels like it. If she's distracted by something or someone's presence she's less likely to react to a call-back. And we worry about her well-being and safety, even though we keep her in sight at all times.

 

It's helpful to our concerns when we know there are others out and about, and usually with much larger dogs. So far, the coyotes have restrained their presence to the west end of the city, but we expect they'll return here at some point during the winter months. Before dawn and after dusk is the likeliest time to see them, although they've been known to present themselves at any time of day, in the past. Jillie has a tendency to run after other dogs, and I doubt she would distinguish a coyote from a dog.

 

While we were out, once again we heard the unmistakable sound of geese on two occasions and it didn't take long before looking up through the forest canopy toward the blue sky we saw several arrows of geese. On occasion a west-facing runway is opened at the airport and the sound of planes high above thrum through the forest, but not often. We occasionally see/hear a military transport or helicopter. And from a civilian airport along the Eastern Parkway, there is the occasional sound of a propeller plane. During migration we sometimes wonder about the potential prospect of bird-plane collisions.