The Last Sunset

I wasn't going to see it.

Not because the sun, for the most part, was hidden behind the clouds off to the west. I could see rain moving slowly over Kinburn and to the south of Dunrobin. The precipitation seemed heavy and, with the cold temperature and blustering wind, looked suspiciously like flurries.

There: I said it. The F-word. Flurries.

I'm not ready to use the S-word. It has an air of permanence. We will have that soon enough.

Crows glided in the stiff wind, almost hovering in place. They would pull their wings inwards, almost roll onto their backs, and dive a short distance before the wings would unfurl and they would swoop back up.

It was approaching 6:00. In about 15 minutes, the sun would be upon the horizon and with any luck, shine on the slopes to the northwest. My eyes could trace the hills in the distance, toward Shawville, and already see light making the red and yellow trees glow.

A few more minutes, and I would have light fall closer.

I saw the truck pull up in my peripheral, the two men emerge, both in green uniforms with patches on the shoulder. The driver, a massive man, approached me, smiling. In his hand was a leaflet with what appeared to be a map.

I smiled and greeted him as he approached but didn't turn my camera away from the west.

"I'm sorry," he said, speaking English after he had heard me say my hello, "I'm afraid the park is now closed."

"So early?"

"Yes," he said, "there's a risk of snow coming soon," his eyes seemed to find the precipitation over Kinburn, "the roads will become icy. It's too dangerous to stay open."

The descent from the Champlain Lookout, along the parkway, is steep and winding. With my summer tires still on my car, I wouldn't want to slide around a corner.

"The sun sets soon," I said, "in less than 15 minutes. Can I stay to capture it? I promise to leave as soon as it has set." There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot but its occupants were nowhere to be seen. No doubt, walking on the trail below the lookout.

"I'm afraid not," he said, "it's not safe. We're closing gates. The only exit now is by Boulevard St-Raymond." He handed me the paper with the map.

"Can I take a few more pictures? S'il vous plaît?"

He looked past me, toward the falling sky. Even though he must have looked out here countless times, perhaps every day, his eyes revealed his wonderment. This is why I do this job, they seemed to say.

"Sure, you can take a few more pictures, but then I'm afraid you must go."

"Merci," I said, then added, "how long will the park be closed?"

"Until further notice. But once we've had our first snow, we'll be closed for the season." He turned to head back to his pickup truck. His colleage, who had attached the notice to the windshield of the other car, was also heading into the vehicle, out of the cold. It was just above the freezing point and with the wind, no one wanted to linger outside.

I took a few more photos and returned to my car. In my rear-view mirror, I could see the NCC truck drive away. I contemplated sticking around but decided to heed the park officer's instructions. I still had about 10 minutes: I didn't want them coming back, this time not as polite.

I took one last look. Though the park might reopen in the coming days, I doubt I'll be back this season, especially at sunset. This autumn was a beauty. If this was going to be my last sunset here, for the season, I couldn't have asked for better.

Even though, in reality, I missed it.

Bring on the F-word, but let's hope the S-word is farther away.