No, it's not the least bit boring that for the past month at the very least, our weather has been about as close to moderately perfect as can be imagined. Rain, heretofore this summer a daily event, is now sporadic, while we've been enjoying mostly clear skies and daily temperatures that belie the arrival of fall. We've gone seamlessly from a tumultuous spring and early- and mid-summer, to a constant state of fine weather conditions, all the more to enjoy the spontaneity of heading for the outdoors whenever the mood takes us, which is often. 

 

If anything, we're becoming somewhat complacent about this gift from nature. Even though we're in the throes of obvious change where days are notably shorter and we've got fewer daylight hours, along with the fact that though daytime warmth succumbs to night-time chills, we've become reliant on continued good weather, enjoying it while we yet can.

 

The combination of Goldilocks temperatures and early morning sun continue to captivate Jackie and Jillie, leading them to ask us every morning to move the sliding doors so they can settle down in the sun on the deck. Until their dark haircoats have attracted enough warmth from the heat of the morning sun to make them begin feeling a tad uncomfortable, when the request to open the door for them takes the reverse position.

 

The garden -- what's left of it, is flourishing once again, the annuals looking radiantly colourful, happily blooming, though in the past several weeks some of them succumbed and were removed. Roses are not yet finished with blooming this year, several of the shrubs are producing fresh new blooms and they're delightful to welcome anew.

 

In the ravine, wildflowers that we assumed had taken their leave with arriving fall, have surprised us with random resurgences. Pilotweed, that first began blooming at the end of June, is once again sending up new flowers to crown their long, tall stems, some of them towering over my height. A few thistles on the forest floor have put out new, bright pink flowers, enormously pleasing to pollen-gathering bees.

 

The warmth has awakened flying creatures, not only birds flitting down to the running water of the forest creek, but gnats in their thousands, catching the sun and glittering and gleaming flying before our eyes. Yesterday we heard not only chickadees and nuthatches, but a raven, its thick, loudly rasping guttural voice distinctively not crow-like. There were, though, flocks of crows flying about yesterday, not so much in the ravine, but dive-bombing on the street, for some unknown reason.

 

The atmosphere in the forest is quiet and placid, a place of comfort and anticipation, as discrete signs of fall begin to appear. Vegetation growing thickly on the forest floor, has been in steep decline, drying up and being reabsorbed into the soil. Some maple saplings and sumacs have begun to turn fiery red, though the tree canopy remains obdurately bright green.

 

Back home, the garden walkway that I had carefully swept of fallen, desiccated leaves from overhanging trees, and the fruit of the crabapple trees are once again beginning to accumulate tiny apples, and on our return home from the forest, Jackie and Jillie make a beeline for the walk to see what's available for a few munches.