For over a week we've awakened in the morning to dull grey overcast skies, spent the day wondering when the wind and rain might possibly stop and gone to bed at temperatures approaching freezing, rain steadily lashing dark windows. This morning our bedroom was flooded with the light of a promising new day. Gone the dark streaked clouds, wind and rain. Robins and cardinals sang in praise of the sun, and we realized we had slept in late.

Did we leap out of bed? Were our puppies anxious to start a brand new day. It didn't appear so, they lay snugly curled under their blankets at the foot of our bed. And we, we were clamped tightly together in the comfort of sleep not yet willing to engage with the day. We were eventually persuaded to recognize the time and the fleeting hours and the pups, following our lead, led off in evacuating the bedroom for downstairs.

For a change they weren't reluctant to leave the house for a quick turn in the backyard. The routines of a languid and enjoyable breakfast gave way to preparations for the day's imperatives. Once all that was out of the way -- consisting primarily of my kitchen work in baking butter tarts, preparing a bread dough, putting on a chicken soup for a long and slow simmer while Irving did the vacuuming, we got around to assuring Jackie and Jillie we were ready for a roundabout in the ravine.

No jackets for them today, just boots, halter and collar, in view of the warming atmosphere, the brilliant sun, and the underfoot muck on the forest trails. It will take more than a few hours of warmer weather and sun to dry out the saturated effect of a full week of endless rain, on the forest floor. That old adage of April showers bringing May flowers was in full display, to our delight.

The hilly ascents and descents were far more readily negotiable, on their way to drying out; it was the trails that remained steeped in mud, the forest floor and pathways inundated with little rainwater ponds. It's amusing to watch Jackie and Jillie meticulously sidestep the  worst of the muck on the trails, just as we tend to.  

During the long circuit we took through the forest our eyes were everywhere at once. We heard owls and crows no doubt disputing as usual, and saw the Mallard pair winging it over the tree canopy on their way to the creek running wide and full still with rainwater. 

First, we came upon the sight of poplars leafing out, a pale green halo over their crowns. Followed by the maples and birches; even some fat leafless buds appearing on the oaks. The hawthorns and apple trees will follow, so will the honeysuckle, dogwood and hazelnut shrubs. And to our mild surprise the Serviceberry trees are now also in bloom, their tiny white flowers presaging late summer berries. Raspberry canes are leafing out.

But for sheer excitement, the sight of a few of the trout lilies in bloom caught me trying to snap photos of the scant few among the hundreds of plants in a colony in bright yellow bloom, responding to the sun's blandishments. It's difficult to photograph their lovely little heads, since they're always nodding down at the ground.

But the growing proliferation of trilliums, bright carmine, translucent in the sun where shafts of sunlight illuminate the flower petals, transports me into ecstasies of admiration, as I snap one photograph after another. They too turn their brilliant heads toward the forest floor, but there's a better chance of photographing them full-on, through acrobatic exercises brought on by enthusiasm.

I recalled where we  had come across a tiny pink painted trillium last year, wagering that it might be up again. It was located off a side trail beside a large pine. It was in bloom, a lovely pastel pink with delicate stripes on the petals. As I was photographing it a huge Belgian Sheep dog that we had passed earlier on another trail, approached me in curiosity to sniff my camera and stamp one of its large paws on that pink trillium. Ephemeral.