The icy, bone-chilling, premature cold has departed these climes, albeit temporarily. In the meantime, we can appreciate approaching winter in the fact that it has already arrived, bringing with it many of the visual splendours we tend to forget year over year then delight in when we're confronted by them, along with the inconveniences that the season also brings.

Already, the snow piled at the sides of the road is high enough to present as a bit of a difficulty to get to the trailhead of the ravine. We've got to clamber over at the most seemingly less difficult spot, generally where some hardy souls have gone before us to thump down the snowpack, and then muscle our way through to the main trail from our little street offshoot, slipping and sliding, our boots grinding into already-set tracks that are uneven and difficult to navigate.

When the trails are in this condition little Riley tends, if he's wearing his Muttluk boots, to stumble over, and plant his face in the snow. He does this multiple times over the space of our usual walking circuit, and of course simply picks himself up and continues trudging along. With the lifting of the extreme cold, however, and temperatures only in the low single-digit minus-celsius range he doesn't need those boots, and he can manage a whole lot better.

When we started out yesterday on our daily ramble, it was heavily overcast, the sky reflecting fairly accurately, the colour of the forest floor; both influenced by snow; preparing to fall from up there to down here, to join the snowpack already previously plumping up the ground. But then, halfway through our circuit, out came the sun; a quarter of the sky seemed prepared to burst into blue, while the remainder remained sullenly aluminum.

We came across the little female border collie who had a month ago got her tail caught in some underbrush, pulling half of it off entirely. She's healing very nicely. She hardly seemed to notice her loss, but it was a gory, frightening sight to her humans. Her companion border collie was confused and unhappy at her absence while she was in the care of our local veterinarian hospital, but they've long since been reunited and were happily

roaming inquisitively through the snowy woods.

We also came across a rescue dog who lives down our street with two retired people who dote on him. He's named Rascal for the good enough reason that he's a bit of a rascal, but one with a very endearing personality.

It is beyond reassuring to have trust in a politician. Public investment in trust in politicians is not particularly high anywhere in the world, much less in Canada. The trouble is that politicians are just like any other segment of the population, but because these people have been placed in a position of public trust and given power to exert authority, the pathways they take to consolidating their power often leave much to be desired.

Currently, in Canada, there is a prime minister of great personal probity. A man who presents as the very personification of moral rectitude, and with the degree of social empathy that is inherent to his character, but hidden behind a facade of privacy. His is not an outgoing personality, and he is more given to shying away from public displays of any kind than publicizing his accomplishments.

Most politicians who are successful at their craft are judged by the degree of charisma they project, and the voting public responds to any aspiring politician capable of rousing their celebrity-type admiration.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper is not one of those. He is seen as aloof, unapproachable, stiff. Personality traits that those who know him personally or who have come in close contact with him deny. Many people do not project themselves uniquely in a crowd. They are relaxed in more intimate settings, and it is in those settings that they allow themselves to be seen for what they really are.

And this, quite apart from a man like Stephen Harper's administrative abilities in executing his duties as democratic head of a country of around 34-million people. He may be reserved in nature, but his response to the call of duty to those who have placed their trust in his abilities is obvious to those who appreciate his qualities; far less so to those whose antipathy to his personal style of authority and his politics of choice are anathema.

A caring father of two teen-agers and loving husband, his personal life is maintained as separately from his public life as in such societies as Canada's the separation of church and state is maintained. His life-partner and wife has a more outgoing personality, moving with ease in the public sphere. She represents his more-immediately-recognized very empathic human persona. Mr. Harper presents the gravitas of a man secure in his faith and his personal values.

He and his administration have capably guided he country through a series of challenges that have overwhelmed the capabilities of other countries in the G8 and G20. Unemployment levels, economic stability and trade growth and defence and security have been well guided under his administration. This is a government that has followed its moral and ethical guidelines to channel its responses to global situations, not merely joining with its allies in areas that require deep independent thought and evaluation leading to conclusive actions.

The Prime Minister has taken years of spare moments to painstakingly assemble a history of his favourite sport into a chronicle of times past to the present. He is, therefore, also an accomplished author of a book titled A Great Game. Not co-written by anyone besides himself, but entirely his own work, research, perceptions and enthusiasms. The publication contents have been well received by critics and his writing style is considered to be rather admirable. Proceeds from the sale of this book will be given to support for military families.

Simon & Schuster / The Canadian PressSet for release in November, A Great Game: The Forgotten Leafs & The Rise of Professional Hockey tracks hockey from the first years of Canadian confederation to the First World War

  http://www.youtube.com/watch

He has also proved himself exquisitely capable of performing musically when the occasion demands that he reveal a bit more of his personal side. He is an excellent pianist, and his inborn sense of timing and a fine voice lead him on occasion to relax in public to the extent that a musical performance takes place enhancing the realization that this is a man of many talents. As he did a few days ago when he appeared at a Jewish National Fund dinner at which he was the guest of honour.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper and his wife Laureen arrive at the Jewish National Fund of Toronto's 2013 Negev Dinner, where he was honoured for his steadfast support for Israel and the Jewish people. 

- See more at: http://www.pm.gc.ca/eng/media/prime-minister-stephen-harper-attends-2013-negev-dinner-hosted-jewish-national-fund-toronto#sthash.rGhhLqwh.dpuf

Prime Minister Stephen Harper and his wife Laureen arrive at the Jewish National Fund of Toronto's 2013 Negev Dinner, where he was honoured for his steadfast support for Israel and the Jewish people.  - See more at: http://www.pm.gc.ca/eng/media/prime-minister-stephen-harper-attends-2013-negev-dinner-hosted-jewish-national-fund-toronto#sthash.rGhhLqwh.dpuf

Prime Minister Stephen Harper and his wife Laureen arrive at the Jewish National Fund of Toronto's 2013 Negev Dinner, where he was honoured for his steadfast support for Israel and the Jewish people. 

- See more at: http://www.pm.gc.ca/eng/media/prime-minister-stephen-harper-attends-2013-negev-dinner-hosted-jewish-national-fund-toronto#sthash.rGhhLqwh.dpuf

There's nothing quite like the frenetic exuberance of a young dog. Puppies are irresistible in their frantic curiosity about everything that surrounds them, wanting to gulp down all the experiences available to them, just like active, curious children. When they're several years older there's more confidence but just as much activity expressed by active, happy dogs comporting themselves in ways easily understood, conveying sheer love of life.

When Button was young she was irrepressible, and there were times when, through sheer exhilaration, she would suddenly disappear in a swift pandemonium of slender black legs outdistancing us on a nature trail, until suddenly she would back-track and return in a mad trot to us as we ambled along. Sometimes those returns would be accompanied by a demonstration of her attachment to us, when she would gallop along a trail without diminishing speed as she reached us, only to leap into the air so we could catch her midair and clutch her to us, in a return of reciprocal emotional attachment.

Riley, for his part, when he was young, was demonstrably excitable; anyone who might notice him could be assured of his undying devotion. It was all I could manage, at times, to restrain him from leaping into the arms of his admirers. I carried him, back then, inside a small camera case which fitted him quite well, and people would invariably notice him slung over my shoulder. They would ohh, and ahh, and he would respond by taking a flying leap out of the bag into their arms.

Yesterday, walking in the snowy ravine, Riley clumped along wearing his winter coat, but since the temperature had risen to minus-4-degrees Celsius, without his hated boots. Halfway through our circuit a flying ball of fur came whirling along one of the pathways toward us, leaping and snuffling at us, a happy little creature of nature. That little creature, like the squirrels whom we feed peanuts, could smell them in our possession and was frantic to be gifted with a few.

His companion, a middle-aged woman who informed us he was the result of her having thought that the company of a little dog might cheer her and influence her life toward healing after an operation for cancer, said his boundless energy had taken her so aback after she had adopted him from a shelter that she wondered what she'd got herself into. She couldn't bear the thought of returning him there, so persevered, and is now in fine health, and better able to cope with the little dog's antics and as well has recovered a state of mind and physical health to appreciate his joie de vivre.

She allowed him to have the peanuts he craved, and the serious business of extracting peanuts from their shells kept him happily busy for a few seconds of quiet appraisal.

He doesn't mind, really being dressed for winter. He's quite well aware that snow equals cold. So that when we pull a winter coat over his little frame he's acquiescent. When Button, our little black miniature poodle was fitted out in really cold weather with a nice warm sweater she wasn't ecstatic about it. She used to try rolling in the snow in an effort to remove the sweater. Eventually she became accustomed to wearing winter coats as she grew older. And she adapted quickly enough and without objection to having to wear boots on those occasions when the cold was so severe she would be unable, without them, to walk any distance.

As for Riley, our marmalade-tufted toy poodle, adjusting to winter gear was always a breeze. Unlike Button he found wearing winter coats comfortable, and much to his liking. Not so, however, with the boots and he would make his annoyance over them well known to us. And this week, the cold has been so intense we've had little option but to gear him out with them, since otherwise he'd be asking to be carried constantly, his tiny footpads completely frozen.

We came across an energetically enthusiastic young whippet last week whirling its way through the woods, along with his human companion, on a neat pair of snowshoes. The whippet too, given its lean frame, short haircoat and frenetic romping, required a winter coat to keep it comfortable, and it didn't seem to mind the unaccustomed feel of fabric about its body. Certainly that didn't keep it from whizzing about through the trees to its heart's content.

It's lovely beyond mere words in the woods when everything has been sifted with newfallen snow, and there's a stillness, a hush over everything. An immediate contrast from the constant shuffling sound of our boots striding through dried leaves. The snow, in its abundance, seems to muffle sound, so that when we hear birds flitting about and uttering their little cheery chirps the sound seems tiny yet oddly sharper than it would be otherwise. Adding to the magical quality of the scenery.

The summer advantage of spontaneity is lost in the winter, of course. Our climate necessitating that we evaluate the daily conditions prevailing before embarking on a long woodland walk. But the exercise of doing so and dressing according to weather conditions to enjoy such an outing merits the attention given to the enterprise, considerably enriching our daily experience.

A week later, to the day, we took another drive along the Western Parkway to downtown Ottawa and from there on to the Eastern Parkway to reach our final destination. Plenty to see along the way, if the observer is a lover of nature.

The contrast between the natural precincts administered by the National Capital Commission in honour of the beloved greenspace of this capital city, maintained as a treasure on behalf of the nation and for, dare we hope, posterity -- and the crumbling old stone buildings many of which are currently undergoing extensive renovations to ensure their continued longevity, provide a fascinating contrast in aesthetics.

No one could conceivably be bored during that pilgrimage, and nor was I, finding more than ample subjects for photographing what took my admiring fancy.

When night left on its silent journey early this morning, instead of a clear sky with a brightly illuminating sun triumphing as might have been expected after a night of winking stars on full awesome display, there was a hugely enveloping, densely opaque yet oddly evanescent ice fog to meet our eyes. That fog of icy moisture left in its wake all growing things slathered in a coating of hoar frost, and if there is any heavenly artist more skilled in transforming a natural environment from one of beauty to one of transcendent loveliness, I've yet to hear of it.

As a result of the early and lingering extremely cold temperatures we've been groaning under, the Ottawa River has begun to freeze over. In those areas where ice has not yet gripped the waters, under the heavily-laden sky the river looked thunderously black and roiled. A more dramatic sight would be hard to imagine. This day's unfolding of scenery from one area to another provided an overload of aesthetic pleasure; no need to exercise one's imagination.

Nature isn't terribly impressed with the human-designed calendar of the seasons, that much is abundantly clear. If Nature decides to instruct high winds and cold to settle in over a landscape, impulsively throwing in high moisture levels, gifting those below with a ferociously winter-like atmosphere which is, after all, native to the northern geography it is her prerogative to do so. Everything, in fact, in the natural world is the prerogative of Nature.

So it shouldn't nor would it have, surprised people who have always lived in the environment to awaken one morning to find themselves deep in a cold snap and deeper still in accumulated snow. We've seen this happen even in a more clement climate like that of Tennessee, where we enjoyed a mild, lovely day of light-jacket hiking in the woods, then awoke the following morning to find the entire landscape in the grip of an upended giant snow bucket which the sky had been transformed into. Impossible to walk without skies or snowshoes in that depth of snow, we soon discovered. Discovering also that main highways out of the area had been temporarily closed down.

So here in Ottawa in the cold-and-snow belt, we woke to a similar situation, but since we're more than accustomed to these events, it wasn't much of a problem to adjust. Mind, we'd been forewarned by Environment Canada and suddenly-aware drivers were frantically attempting to persuade over-booked and over-worked auto shops to drop everything else they were doing and tend to their personal pleas to put winter ice tires on their vehicles.

As for us, we ventured out the day after the big storm that left the first of the downy coverlets over our landscape to the tune of 25 cm, which a wicked wind that lopped off the woodlands' pine branches in the ravine, to enjoy a day of clear skies, struggling sun-warmth, little wind, and a high that day of minus-8-degrees Celsius. There were others out and about, enjoying the beauty of the day. Including a minuscule kinglet flitting in the trees, doubtless in the unseen company of chickadees.

We came across a whippet, wearing a blue coat, walking a young man on snowshoes. The ravine landscape was ravishing in its white beauty, the creek in the process of freezing over. No squirrels to be seen whatever, in stark contrast to the days previous when the woods ran thick with them, all imploring us to part with the peanuts we carry.

 Despite their visual absence, we knew they'd be out looking for treats, so we struggled, with double-mitted hands, to disperse them in the usual places.

Ottawa has two perfectly serviceable institutes of higher learning. Granted, their reputation is not as high as other academic institutions in the country. And she is not enamoured of attending university in Ottawa, in any event. Her mother had gone to University of Ottawa, as had one of her uncles. Her mother had been anything but impressed with the system she had been exposed to. And she changed courses, to attend Algonquin College instead, for a certificate in interior design. As for her uncle, after his first year at University of Ottawa, he switched to the University of Toronto to achieve his B.A. And he later received his Master's degree at University of Guelph, his doctorate in science from University of British Columbia. As for her older uncle, his entire academic education was at University of Toronto, including music and medieval history. And he is now involved in documenting the history of astronomy.

She is fascinated by the prospect of attending university in Toronto. That, it seems, is her mecca for attaining the highest degree of academic standing, to attend Osgoode Law School. Her focus on attaining a law degree is not new, it has been an ambition of very long standing. She is only 17 years old now, and it was when she was much, much younger, even before the onset of her teen years, that she had designed her future as a lawyer. A trial lawyer; she is interested in criminal law.

She'll graduate high school in the spring. But she and a group of her girlfriends -- high academic achievers all -- decided to make early application to the universities of their choice. All of her friends applied to small universities, the very thought of which seemed absurd to her. None of them, in any event, had law programs. She decided to apply to York, University of Toronto, Dalhousie, Simon Fraser and University of British Columbia. She sent applications to the first four. And has been on tenterhooks of expectation, and dismaying fear ever since.

The acknowledgements of her applications from the universities come automatically, but with each one her heart lurched, only to fall back again into disappointment, for none of them came with an automatic acceptance. Awaiting news in a state of agitated suspense is not only a teen emotion, but it is hugely enhanced, no doubt, but a teen's wish to go out into the beckoning, great wide world of opportunity and prove their mettle.

Two weeks after she submitted her applications she heard back from Dalhousie with an acceptance. She is conflicted about this. On the one hand, it is validation, on the other it doesn't represent her first choice, although she acknowledges that its law school is highly thought of, and graduates have an excellent change of being hired, another of her concerns. (Her mother's uncle, as it happens, is a professor of environmental science at Dalhousie.)

It fits some of her criteria, one odd one of which is aesthetic; the university dates in origin back two hundred years, its architecture is likely Romanesque, the 'ancient' look of the architecture and the stonework appeal hugely to her romantic sense. That the university enjoys high esteem is hugely in its favour; as is the fact that it offers the minor that she has targeted. It's relatively far from home, and apart from her love of her family, the geography that represents home is not one that has great appeal to her.

Toronto, on the other hand, does. Her uncle's advice is that a smaller university will result in more personal interaction, attention, and likely satisfaction. She rejects this, even though she knows from her extensive research that students have chosen a small northern Ontario university as representative of the most appreciated environment its former alumni selected.

The near future stretches before her, limited only by matters beyond her control, in the hands of Dame Fortune. Her passion to achieve a degree in her chosen profession and her search for excellence, her interest in the administration of justice has the potential to carry her forward in momentum toward life satisfaction.