November twilight. The sun disappeared behind the hills by 4:45 in the afternoon today.

Haze from controlled burns faded distant colours. Now is the time to clear debris when the risk of forest fire is low.

Nearly all the birds have left the sanctuary. Only the crows remain, singing like an enthusiastic unpaid third-rate band willing to work for exposure.

Snow briefly gave a preview of winter’s intent, then melted in the sun. Some still hides in the shade.

Thin ice covers Elizabeth Lake like a sugary crème brûlée crust. A foot would easily break through and the mud underneath the shallow water is still soft enough to capture a shoe. On the water’s edge, kids smash the surface with sticks to see how far cracks will travel. Most of their make-believe spears pierce the ice and get stuck in the mud. Someone hollers that his feet are wet. He runs home.

And then, before the sky is even dark, the moon glows in anticipation of its watch.

It feels like the sun is giving up on the day too soon. It’s hard to watch the ending of growing season full of colour and life, but there is still beauty in nature at rest — a subtler beauty, but still beauty.

Thank you, Lord, for every sunset because every sunset brings the promise of sunrise.