Yesterday's morning-to-evening rain finally came to a halt when night arrived. No chance to get Jackie and Jillie out for their daily round through the forest trails. We always feel badly for them on such occasions, but it obviously can't be helped; nature has the first and last word on the weather. This morning, however, we woke to clear, blue skies with the sun gleaming through the windows, accompanied by much colder temperatures. It's a trade-off we gladly accept.

 

Irving had left a message for his friend Greg, asking him if he could come over and change the truck and car to ice tires. A yearly ritual. For the past several years, Greg, who operates a personal side-business accommodating people by coming to their homes to change their tires while holding down a permanent full-time job as a mechanic with the RCMP, has accommodated us, after he was referred to us by our neighbour Mohindar. 

 

It's a preparation for winter driving here in the third-coldest, snowiest capital in the world, after Ulan Bator and Moscow. Something Irving used to do with ease, but he finally acceded to my suggestion that it was a job better done by someone younger, and Greg is that, only in his mid-50s, a large, beefy man accustomed to handling vehicles. He actually installed a hydraulic lift in his garage, and a few years back changed the brakes in the truck for us. 

 

Now, we're winter-ready. This afternoon I raked up the leaves in the backyard and front for the last time; the large Magnolia and Mulberry, front and back each, have finally finished shedding. 

We set out earlier-than-usual with the puppies for our ravine walk, anxious to get out and to get them out to fully enjoy the sun coasting through an almost-cloudless sky. And because it was so pleasant we decided to make it a longer hike than usual. Soon realizing that quite a few others from the larger community had a similar impulse. So Jackie and Jillie got to see a fair number of other dogs, large and small, known to them, and others new acquaintances.

 

Now that the forest canopy has been denuded, save for the conifers, more of the sun's long fingers of light and warmth manage to illuminate and moderate the landscape. It's at this time of year that we notice the bright green richness of mosses that seem to thrive the colder the atmosphere becomes. 

 

We renewed acquaintance with a fair number of dogs ourselves, seeing some we don't regularly come across. Invariably, however, they remember Irving, and make haste to plunk themselves down expectantly beside him. Even little dogs we've never seen before appear to recognize opportunity their extraordinary sense of smell leads them to, and they're a delight to behold.

 

When we finally made our way up the last long hill out of the ravine to reach street level, we realized that the great blue ceiling above had become a spectacular theatre. We watched as wave after wave, each of hundreds of crows flew overhead. While we were in the forest we did hear crows, but thought little of it since their presence is familiar to us. 

 

 

But on this occasion we witnessed something we've never before seen; a murder of crows sweeping the sky, hundreds in each wide-spaced wave. Irving conjectured they might be juveniles gathering not necessarily in a mass migration, perhaps prepared to remain in situ for the winter months in gatherings representing 'communities'.