like the acorn waits, cold dark cradles hidden dreams, ancient longings burgeon
As the Earth slowly clothes Herself in darkness, i remember in my bones that beginnings often start in the dark. Like seeds held beneath the soil, waiting for their moment. Advent begins here too, in this long night, inviting us to slow down, to listen, to trust what we cannot yet see.
My being returns to desert twilights in New Mexico, when earth and sky blurred into one vast, darkening sweep. That darkness never felt threatening, only inviting. A place where my tired spirit could finally exhale, and where a faint, surprising hope began to take shape.
Now i wander the cold, fog-wrapped woods of Wisconsin. Snow absorbs every sound until the whole world feels held in breathless stillness. In that hush, my senses awaken. The crunch of frozen earth beneath my feet, the sharp bite of winter air, the muted glow of the sun filtering through bare branches. This landscape draws me back into my body, back into myself.
These places are different, yes, but the rhythm is the same. The Earth draws inward. The dark stretches long. Within that rhythm rests the promise that something necessary is happening beneath the surface.
Advent teaches this truth every year. That waiting matters. That darkness is part of the story. This is the season when roots deepen, when dreams take shape underground, when the Sacred stirs in the places we cannot yet see.
And in that darkness, a small light emerges. Not sudden or blinding, but steady. Guiding, softening, preparing the way.
Maybe the call that’s been buried in me, dormant under seasons of transition and loss, is finally beginning to thaw. Maybe yours is too.
Here’s to the brave, unseen beginnings.
To the hush of snowy woods.
To light finding its way through the trees.
To hope taking root in us again.
