Just as we set out today in mid-afternoon to walk up the street with Jackie and Jillie for our daily foray through the ravine trails, I realized that the standard hibiscus that Irving bought to surprise me with in early June for our 69th wedding anniversary was beginning to flower again. It had taken a well-deserved rest from its last flowering when bloom after gorgeous bloom flaunted their beauty day after day. So I've fertilized it and watered it intermittently and it began to set new buds that are now ready to burst into their ball-gown-like perfection.

 

Another late summer day, sliding into fall. The nights have been cool, although the days continue warm and breezy, and mostly sunny. Those cool nights had me thinking of the comfort food of cooler days to come. So on a whim yesterday I decided to do a seafood paella for dinner. I was a little generous with the saffron and hot smoked paprika, but the bell pepper, tomatoes, garlic onion and green peas and rice soaked it all up, and the cubed haddock and shrimp gloried in the savoury mix. We enjoyed it, and the strawberries in yogurt that followed provided a good, fresh-tasting counterpart for dessert.

 

This morning dawned to a clear blue sky and a warming sun. In fact, the  high for the day was reached before noon. Then the temperature began to drop and the wind picked up. Soon the sky was cloud-packed and the house interior looked dusky. I was busy in the kitchen as usual for a Friday morning. The order of the day is chicken soup to begin our evening meal and I always let it simmer for hours. I made a bread dough to refrigerate for use later in the week; good for a pizza perhaps, or rolls. And grated a large carrot that would accompany chopped dates and slivered candied ginger in a whole-wheat cupcake batter. Topped by a cream-cheese frosting.

 

 

From time to time Jackie and Jillie went out to the backyard, and from time to time light sprinkles of rain fell. When we were ready to depart the house we all wore light rainjackets, setting out for the ravine. The tree canopy is still verdant, the forest in no hurry to transport itself into fall mode. Oddly, on the street there are several mature maples that are now caparisoned in bright red foliage. As we descended the first  hill into the ravine, the zany call of a Pileated sounded close by us. And we heard a nuthatch; likely among chickadees. Other than that all was serene. Quiet enveloped us.

And then the serenity of the forest faded into a far-off dull roar that we mistook for approaching thunder. Instead it was military planes, likely fighter jets ripping and roaring through the darkly clouded sky. They were obviously flying over the clouds; nothing could be seen, but the sound of their thunderous presence was almost overwhelming. We were fully immersed in the crackle-thunder of their bypass that matured deafeningly then faded as they flew off. For the next hour while we plodded the forest trails this ritual of flyover and ear-thumping thunder continued. Whereas Jackie and Jillie often respond to thunder, this overwhelming clatter seemed not to impress them at all.

 

 

When we finally emerged from our ravine hike, we saw another  unusual spectacle. Neighbours out of their houses, standing on the road, trying to glimpse the planes. We too stood there, despite the dense cloud cover, eager to see what we might make out so far above. At one point we were able to see a few contrails high, very high in the sky at a semi-parting of clouds. And then, we could make out the tiny image of a plane climbing the sky, dragging its contrail, when suddenly it plunged straight down, nose pointed at the ground far, far below, and we held out breath while the pilot demonstrated  his command of the plane, until it disappeared.