Early Winter Warning

We've been plunged, suddenly, into early winter. Too suddenly, given that we were enjoying a mid-Fall intercessionary Indian Summer, so benevolent we hardly needed more than a sweater to head outdoors. Quite wonderful it was, too, with the late autumn flowers still in faded evidence, trees growing more colourful by the day, and squirrels whipping about, not yet as frantic as they would become in several weeks' time.

That was then. The now that we're experiencing is as though from another time, another place.

It has become inordinately cold, far colder than should be experienced at this time of year. And although fall is never complete without rain, we've had copious amounts of it. And the leaves have now, for the most part, given up their contest with life. The wind moans through the trees, swaying them this way and that, tearing any remaining leaves into the atmosphere.

We can cope with the cold, with the wind, but when added to that combination there is heavy rain, common sense dictates that we stay indoors. No ravine walk, a disaster. Button was slightly confused, but she readily adjusted to the reality of an indoor day, and Riley was more than content over that state of affairs. Not we so much, knowing that the forecast is for 15 centimeters of snow to fall overnight.

And another four to six to come down tomorrow. What'll that mean for our prospects for ravine hiking tomorrow? So when a lull arrived in the afternoon rain, we decided we'd take full advantage of the opportunity; hurriedly filled the porcelain sink in the laundry room, dressed Button and Riley in little warm sweaters and ourselves in hooded rain jackets, and set off.

The wind hounded us throughout the ravine, at times sounding like a moaning giant, at other times, picking up speed and intensity, sounding exactly like a plane close overhead and threatening to land right on us. Oddly, it seems that when it's so dark out of an afternoon, colours become enhanced, and the flatter areas of the ravine look brightly ravishing in their verdance.

The tree tops, spiny-topped spruce and fir, and leaf-bereft maples and ashes alike, rocked back and forth. There were no birds to be seen or heard on this exceptional day. Those parts of the trail where the poplars had loosed their leaves were packed with a wet mash; the overnight rain and cold had turned them that ugly, brittle steel-grey we so dislike.

Here and there, through the woods, immature ironwood and beech still hold on to their leaves, and they likely will, throughout the winter, their leaves growing ever more papery and copper-like as the months progress. On those areas of the trails where maple and ash and birch predominate, the bright crimsons, oranges, yellows still gaily decorate the paths.

Further along, on a side trail that makes up a part of our daily circuit, where there are copses of mature beech, their bright copper leaves freshly unhinged litter the trail, throwing up brilliant orange light against the dark ambiance of a freshly-brewing storm.

We are now able to see quite far through the forest, with the trunks of deciduous trees appearing as dark, moist monoliths.

It's cold, and even though we're wearing gloves, the cold and the wind conspire to freeze the tips of our fingers. Our little dogs seem happy enough to be out, just as we are, glad we took advantage of the break in the weather.

Knowing quite well we'll be getting no weather break in the hours to come, with that winter warning in effect throughout the area.