It's still hard to fathom the global impact of a virus that spread like proverbial wildfire across the world, killing millions of people, leaving countries the world over reeling from the shock of strained health services unable to keep pace with the new demands from their populations, and the fallout that impacted the entire world's economic status. The discovery of a vaccine in such relatively short order meant to protect vulnerable humanity merited a Nobel prize. And the coronavirus that began it all, along with its many varied mutations is no longer as feared.

 

 

But nor is it fading into the past. The countless people who still suffer from Long COVID, those whose hearts were impacted permanently, the COVID survivors whose cognitive function was impaired all bear testimony to that. The virus continues to produce variants, some of them more resilient and more highly infectious than the original. Although they may be less deadly, their sheer volume, infecting more people as the virus learned how to evade biological barricades against its entry and infection, continues to challenge the capacity of hospitals and the medical community to counter its dire effects.

 

 

The latest sub-variants of variants of the most successfully infectious SARS-CoV-2 strain, XBB.1 is in circulation and presenting itself in ample presence to those studying municipal wastewater tests. Yet there is nothing theoretical about the presence within the health system of upward creeping numbers of people being infected, causing new strains on local hospitals, impacting on services available at emergency departments. An updated vaccine has been approved and is awaiting circulation. 

 

We're in the high-risk group for updating our vaccine history. It looks as though that won't be possible until some time next month, which is also about the 6-month-elapse time from our last booster shot. That will be two vaccines we'll be anticipating; the seasonal flu vaccine and the COVID-19 vaccine. Those concerns are real, but they recede into the background of everyday life, which is just as well.

 

We were aware yesterday that this idyllic summer-in-fall weather was due to depart. So it wasn't exactly surprising this morning to awake to a heavily overcast sky. Rain began falling soon after we came downstairs for breakfast. There was a brief lull after an hour, then the rain resumed in earnest, falling heavily, supported by hefty wind bursts. We'd had a good run with superb weather of late, so that's how it goes.

 

I turned my attention to baking a pumpkin pie and kneading up a batch of bread dough. Irving went out to the pharmacy, the bank and to a retail store to do some shopping ... these forays are usually a surprise for me, since he comes back with unexpected items. There was a time when I could buy a tin of pure pumpkin of a size just perfect for a single pie. Now, the supermarket where I shop carries only large tins which are meant for two pies. I froze half of the pumpkin, and then went about preparing it as usual; sugar, spices, two eggs, milk. I'll have to remember the other half, frozen, to be used some other time.

 

By the time I was finished in the kitchen, and Irving had returned from his expedition, rain had finally stopped, though the clouds remained. So out we went with Jackie and Jillie, hoping we could manage a circuit in the forest before rain returned. Even since yesterday, we found once again many changes. Far more colourful leaves fallen to the forest floor. And above, greater colour coverage than the day before.

The creek was running wildly downstream, rushing toward the not-too-distant river. It wasn't a beautiful sight, since the accumulated rainwater was disturbing the creekbed, rousting up the clay bottom to produce an opaque muddy river no self-respecting fish, frog or wayward dog could possibly relish sinking into.

As we gained height on the trail we took, looking into the close interior off the trail, I saw a cluster of berries, then another cluster, hanging pendant from a vine. It took a few seconds before I realized these dark clusters weren't berries, but grapes. We had no idea, hadn't noticed at any earlier time that wild grape vines were growing in this part of the forest. We've seen them in prominent display elsewhere in the forest, but never before there.

 

But that's the thing about our daily forays into the forest. We never know what we'll come across. And there is always something to 'notice' that's different from other times. The forest is a changing kaleidoscope of form and colour and content.