Is it possible for a writer to write something meaningful about a sunset without falling into corny sentimentality?  Is sentimentality corny?  Last night here in Muskoka we experienced a spectacular sunset.  I had seen a few like that in the far North.  I believe when there is a sort of ceiling of cloud and a gap at the horizon, a special light show results.  Just as the sun sinks into the gap, low golden light shines towards the east.  You can see the bush with the crowns of birches and slender maples illuminated for a few moments before darkness.  The setting sun bathed the low clouds in fiery crimson and orange.  It was all the more beautiful because it was brief.  There is no holding that short time and night is soon coming.

Today we went for a 3.5 km walk.  We started out behind the house where the Seguin Trail is sheltered on both sides by trees.  The sky had been very changeable all morning and a few flakes of snow were driven by strong winds.  Soon, the sun could be glimpsed through grey and white clouds scudding along at a great rate.  Where the trail met the paved road we curved back in a semi-circle toward home.  The tops of the trees were roaring with the high wind that seemed to me like the breath of God.  Spring is coming and the land, full of trickling streams running down to the lake is waking up.