Most days of the week I'm too busy to spare time for the garden. The week's forecast informed us that Saturday would be a mild, sunny day, and I earmarked it for giving me the opportunity to continue cleaning up the garden for fall. Unfortunately, the forecast has changed since then and rain is in the offing; 90%, so there goes that plan. I had planned to go through the rock garden and finish up the backyard, cutting back vegetation. It'll have to wait for another day of opportunity. Meanwhile, the four bags of compost I collected on Wednesday will be put out for collection on Monday night.

 

 

I asked Irving what he'd like for a dessert treat and he came back with a chocolate cake. So that's what I baked, in two layers, and between them I slathered raspberry jam, with a chocolate frosting over the entire cake. Too bad I can't get baking tins half the size of the ones I have, since I'd prefer to bake smaller cakes, but these old round pans will do; the layers are just thinner, while still as large in circumference as usual.

 

 

When we took ourselves out to the ravine in the afternoon, we came across an old ravine-hiking friend we haven't seen in months. As usual, we stopped to chat briefly. From initially discussing how beautiful the forest is now in its autumnal glory, we deviated into a sombre exchange on the massacre in Israel. His daughter, he told us, is dating a young Jewish man, whose best friend in Israel just lost one of his legs during a battle.

 

 

I excused myself, and walked on down the steep decline, apologizing to our friend, telling him I just was unable to continue the conversation. Irving stayed up above, and they talked together awhile, while I waited at the bottom of the descent, looking around at the trees. Now that I was speaking with someone from the greater community, I just wasn't able to unemotionally talk about the situation. I was no longer weeping when Irving finally caught up with me and gave me a reassuring hug.

 

It was about then that the sky itself began weeping. We weren't dressed for rain. There was only supposed to be a 30% chance of rain today. But most of the forest canopy, colourful as it is, was still fairly intact. No need to return home; we counted on the rain continuing to be light. And evidently so did a lot of other people. Surprising, since so often we see no one else out, particularly on a week day.

 

But out they were, and we kept seeing dogs we know trotting and running purposefully toward us. So it didn't take very long before the large-sized cookies were gone. The dogs that stop by to say hello while their humans are off somewhere else on the intersecting trails, usually expect two cookies; that's the formula, and until both are received they wait, then turn and depart as quietly and swiftly as they had arrived.

 

 

It's all balm for troubled souls. The magic of nature's serenity, the beauty unfolding before us. The prospect of greeting old friends, both canine and human. The pleasure that Jackie and Jillie derive from their daily rounds through the forest trails and meeting up with their friends. And our quiet conversations between ourselves, troubled and sad.