It was late afternoon, verging into early evening by the time we managed to get out for our usual walk in the forest with our two little dogs yesterday. A warmly benevolent day, the sky remained clear throughout the day and the sun warmed the atmosphere substantially though there was some wind and the temperature didn't rise above 15C.

The light mist of pale green that has been gaining momentum is now emphatically green, most visible in the lower story of the forest, but emerging without doubt in the upper story reaching into the canopy, a verdancy that is in its infancy but steadily advancing. At a rate that never fails to amaze for its astonishing speed.

Most of the trails have dried up, although some still remain mired in muck, requiring avoidance of a type that doesn't close them off, just necessitating going off trail for the length involved and veering off into the woods a bit.

Apart from the fact that the forest deciduous trees and shrubs are  regaining their colour and hastening to do so, new life of the kind that replaces old fallen trees is also commencing. Pine seedlings in particular seem to pop up without notice; suddenly they're there, with every intention of maturing into the size of those that draw our awe in various places of the forest.

Despite the time, we dawdled, took our time, peered about here and there, making the most of the venture, as we usually do. There's just too much we can miss sighting if we hurry through, and taking our time simply makes the exercise all the more pleasant.

During the winter months our two little dogs seek out the comfort of the sun as it glows into the breakfast room where one of their beds is located, and there they settle themselves in the afternoon when that life-giving orb has moved across the sky to attain the perfect position to allow them to warm themselves and enjoy the gentle touch of sunrays for as long as they glance through the patio doors.

Now that spring has finally arrived, with moderating temperatures, particularly in the micro-climate of our back yard, they ask repeatedly to go out to splay themselves out comfortably on the deck, caressed by the warming sun, until, given their black haircoats, they become too hot and shove aside the screen door to admit themselves back into the house.

As they react so do we, becoming increasingly anxious to get outside to enjoy the atmosphere of release and relief, wanting to work in the garden, to take ourselves off for walks in the forest.We hear the owls at night now, their melancholy call spiriting through the ravine and wafting into our backyard. The little nighthawk that has taken to sleeping on the rail of our porch continues to visit and snuggle itself into the corner to spend the night, its little brown body hunched in the comfort of rest.

Yesterday afternoon's ravine ramble was just perfect, not quite as hot as the day before, and the sun glancing in and out of clouds most of the day, with a lovely, cooling breeze. A haze of green is now visible across the understory of the forest, not yet in evidence among the deciduous trees, but foliage springing up tenderly and with leaps and bounds daily in shrubs like dogwood and honeysuckle and willows.

We were on the lookout for opened trilliums. I'm also keen to see the opened flowers of a clump of trilliums that bloomed a lovely soft-blush pink last year. But though I was certain that by the weekend we'd see the blooms in all their open colour, that wasn't what happened. Until we finally came across two disparate trilliums, fully open, their carmine blooms nodding head down toward the forest floor but unmistakably bright enough to catch our eyes.

Finally, and none too soon, the weather appears to have done a turn in our favour. In favour, that is to say of drying up the drenched atmosphere, sodden from continual rain slapping moisture against every available surface, helped enormously by accompanying high winds. Now the winds are helping to dry out the atmosphere but it will take time.

Although there was still the possibility of isolated showers in yesterday's forecast, we did see the sun on occasion, and it was hugely welcome. Its warming rays, and the brightness it casts over everything does much to cheer people up, still suffering from the doldrums of late, reluctant-to-leave winter.

Above the ravine in the forest there are ample vestiges of the ravages the pounding rain exacts on the forest floor, with little lakes and puddles everywhere, eventually to soak into the already-saturated ground. Although we'd thought there would be sightings of trilliums in bloom after their always-surprising pop-ups, none had yet opened.

But the coltsfoot, first to bring their cheery flowers to bloom, raised their bright golden heads to the sun in patches here and there along the forest trails. And the colonies of trout lilies, so much in evidence under the as-yet-unleafed stands of deciduous trees are now showing off the occasional perky little yellow flower; their blooms are never seen in great abundance despite the show of numerous spear-shaped foliage with their distinctive colouration.

And as soon as the trout lilies will have completed whatever blooming will take place among the plants, it will be the foam flowers and the lilies-of-the-valley that take their place. And our most favourite, Jack-in-the-pulpits.

Yesterday's wonderful weather brought out quite a contingent of area residents, not normally seen poking through the woods. Along with their dogs whose excursions into the forest are such seldom occasions. We came across a familiar figure halfway through our circuit, a man who lives alongside the ravine whose street is located some distance from ours along the course of the ravine, and whose canine companion we thought so highly of, a white German Shepherd no longer accompanies him; it was a year ago that Lily suddenly suffered a catastrophic stroke and died.

Now, after having mourned her absence for a year, Rob has a new companion, a three-month-old male puppy he had to drive all the way to North Bay to pick up from someone who breeds white German Shepherds. The puppy's good-nature is already evident. And it's as excitable as only a puppy can be. Jackie and Jillie were interested but also stand-offish with the puppy's happy overtures. They cannot relate to their own puppyhood when their joyful intrusion into mature dogs' space was viewed as offensive by older dogs; now they exhibit the very same disinterest in a puppy's antics that they were exposed to on the part of mature dogs.

Few things leave us as restless and feeling slightly bereft as being locked out of our usual daily routine embarking for an hour's ramble in the woods. When the weather intrudes to the degree that it is made that difficult for us to engage in our relaxing and enjoyable venture onto forest trails we feel that the day simply isn't complete.

The fact that we have two little dogs who also need the exercise and the enjoyment value of trekking into our natural environment also prods us to venture out when conditions are just on the cusp of being difficult. They're small and not oblivious to weather conditions. Jillie hates getting wet, and will do just about anything to avoid a soaked landscape, including hiding, in the hopes that we'll forget about her. Jackie is far less particular, but inclined to becoming ill if exposed to prolonged cold, wet conditions.

When conditions are just on the cusp of tolerable, they wear raincoats just as we do when we decide to take the risk of weather not deteriorating for the period we're out. On Thursday we were all dressed and prepared to take advantage of what we thought was a quiet lull in the all-day rain, when we had to return home with great reluctance, just as the sky opened up again and inundated us.

Friday brought no improvement with the relentless rain. Until around five in the afternoon when I was putting the finishing touches on dinner. My husband urged me to agree to a spurt into the ravine. I scoffed, telling him it was too late in the day, and the sudden stop to the rain  might augur but a brief intermission that would start up again when we were halfway through the trails.

Amazingly, the sun broke through, and we decided we'd give it a try, got all geared up, left the house just as the sun poked back in behind the cloud cover. But we forged on, reached the forest ingress, and Jackie and Jillie ran ahead gleefully, over the saturated forest floor, avoiding puddles in graceful leaps as we followed them. Rain dripped from the trees, the creek at the bottom of the ravine was bubbling over in little rapids, spilling the water churning up clay from the bottom of the creek to produce a dark, muddy run-off of woody detritus.

The opportunity put a real spring in our steps. We hastened along, concerned that another  pouring bout would soak us, but were able to complete our circuit with no further rain events. We saw a few more trilliums in places where they don't normally come up, and ample evidence that lilies-of-the-valley too were breaking through the rich soil of the forest floor.

Later that evening a ferocious windstorm brought thunderstorms whooshing through the landscape. The sound and fury of the rain and the wind assailed our ears and made us feel even more comfortable and complacent as we relaxed after dinner, content that we'd at least been able to make a brief break for a walk through the forest while our dinner was baking in the oven.

Our home's near proximity to a wonderful forested ravine ensures that wildlife is no stranger to us. Because we place our kitchen waste in two compost bins and have done so for almost 30 years, the bins attract some of that wildlife; squirrels, mice and raccoons. They're located in the backyard. But we also put out nuts, seeds and bread products often on the porch and that attracts birds and squirrels primarily, occasionally rabbits. Yesterday  mid-afternoon, one of our regularly visiting raccoons who generally come around at night, came by to clean up what the squirrels had left.

And when we went up to bed last night around eleven-thirty, a glance outside to the porch informed us that the nighthawk that has taken to sleeping on top of the porch rail just where my husband places buttered bread squares had returned for the night. Fast asleep, the little creature was huffed into a brown ball of feathers. In previous years doves used to come around to sleep after pecking at the offerings, then resting for hours afterward.

We looked for sights of other Mourning Cloaks yesterday on our ravine walk, but none were to be seen. We thought it possible that the freezing temperature drops at night might have killed them, since we had seen only one before the return of the cold. But yesterday was a glorious day, full sun, light breezes, and a whopping 23C. No need for jackets on such a day; with the sun beaming through the forest canopy unoccupied by foliage, we were in direct sunlight for most of our trail walk. So, in a sense, spring flowers that depend on that short window of direct sun before deciduous trees flaunt their new leaves, spring to life almost overnight.

We came across several patches of coltsfoot, bright gold in the spring sun, as though echoing the sun's warmth right back at it. They're pretty well the first of the wildflowers to make their presence. And, as always, we were amazed to discover that trilliums had actually popped up on the forest floor overnight. On the other hand, it's possible we'd overlooked their initial presence as we strolled along the trails previous to yesterday, since some of the early risers were already flaunting the buds of their flowerheads. At this rate, trilliums will begin their bloom by the weekend!

On our way out as we completed our circuit we came across a young man who lives up the street from us, with his girlfriend and his dog, a friendly black Labrador. They wanted to know whether the trails were too muddy to traverse, and though some were, most were drying up very nicely. I casually mentioned the presence of trilliums and the young man turned a puzzled face toward me, to ask what they were.

We tend to do most of our garden cleaning up in the fall with the expectation that come spring there will be little left to do. That we can leave the garden to itself, requiring no help from us to make it presentable as it adjusts to the changing atmosphere from winter to spring. Such, alas, is not the case. Although there is relatively little to do in the garden with the perennials being nudged awake and into sluggish action, there is the detritus of accumulation from the winter months that glare at us, insisting it be raked and swept away.

Of course at this time of year everything looks raw and unfinished. We see all the hard edges and none of the softness of late spring when trees have budded their foliage, and the perennials and shrubs have yet to shout out their vibrant presence, either at home in the garden or out in the forest. The thing of it is, everything can be taken for granted, the eternal seasonal changes and how flora and fauna respond. But doing so is neglectful and we tend to miss what we should really not.

At this time of year with the days still lengthening in ambient light, when we no longer have temperatures overnight dipping below freezing, and precipitation tends to fall as rain, not snow, changes are abrupt as the growing season leaps into action. In the garden tulips are ready to bloom, the scilla and grape hyacinths already have, and now the anemone is also blooming. The heucheras are stretching into visible action and their cousins, plantain lilies (better known as hostas) are nudging the fertile soil aside to make room for their emergence. Even Icelandic poppies have thrust their foliage into visible presence.

And in the ravine, wild strawberries are popping up everywhere, alongside woodland violets. Not yet in bloom, but the evidence that they will before long is there as the foliage creeps into view. Trout lilies have spread, their spear-shaped and patterned foliage pioneering new ground on the forest floor. And foamflower, the wild equivalent to our garden heuchera, are also emerging.

We stride along the forest trails unimpeded now by snow and ice. Rather, we're treading on a cornucopia of pine, hemlock and spruce cones. It was a good year for acorns as well. Those cones that fell in abundance last fall, some that fell during the winter, and more that cascaded down in some of the ferocious winds of early spring. In the fall they were redolent of sap, and they have provided an ongoing feast for the squirrels dependent on them during the months of snow and cold winds.

Some of the shrubbery in the ravine is now beginning to tentatively but inexorably leaf out; dogwood and honeysuckle among them. Maple trees are beginning to shed their bright red florets, though none of the hardwoods have yet shown signs of leaf growth.

After the weather reversion to inclemency of the day before yesterday we were treated to a little bit of everything; tantalizing morning sun, cold in retreat, much friendlier winds and no hint of rain anywhere on the near horizon. Perhaps we should have embarked on our morning walk when the temperature hit 18C, and the sun was still out, but duty calls.

Mondays are my house-cleaning day, so unless something really urgent arises, that's where I set my sights. Dusting, mopping, vacuuming, floor-washing. The restoration of order and a semblance of cleanliness. It wouldn't much matter if I skipped one week, since small-clean-ups are done throughout the week, and there's only two adults and two small dogs to clean up after. But those are rare occasions.

In any event, it was well after mid-afternoon before we made off for our ravine walk. Few preparations needed, since our little dogs needed only their collars and light harnesses, while we were fine with light jackets. Or so we thought. For the sun had gone in, and dark scudding clouds had taken the place of that lovely clear sky.

So the further we got along our route on the forest trails, the cooler it seemed to get. Happily, the sun did come out for a few warming occasions. In lock-step, unfortunately, with falling temperatures and resurgent wind. Little matter, we all enjoyed the freedom of moving our limbs and enjoying the atmosphere with scarcely a hint of ice left on the trails, and the snow quite efficiently having retreated off the forest floor.

All manner of woodland plants are now emerging, anxious to take advantage of their spring opportunity to present themselves once again, and we're delighted to see them. The showy colonies of foamflower have joined the woodland violets and the trout lilies in greeting spring above the fertile soil of the forest. They are such delightful plants, not just for the delicate sprays of white flowers that will eventually be in evidence, but for the shape, texture and colour of the foliage. Wild heucheras is what they are, dear to any gardener's heart.

We came across one other ravine rambler with her Portuguese Water Dog, and for a brief period while we stopped and chatted as old friends, Jackie and Jillie had another companion to snuffle about with.