Rest, Seeds, and the Winter Moon

The Wolf Moon rose over the field last week, silvering the frost and casting its quiet power across the land. Beneath it, a fire burned: small, steady, alive with movement and warmth. There was something in that pairing: moon and flame, stillness and energy, that felt like a message for this time of year.

Winter is a season for resting. For integrating. For noticing the small things and holding them gently, knowing they are the symbolic seeds of what will grow in spring and summer. It’s a time to breathe, to reflect, and to honour the work that’s already been done: on the land, on the vision, and in ourselves.

Over the past months, we’ve taken small, careful actions. We’ve cleared space where it was needed, planted a few (literal) seeds: garlic tucked into one bed, broad beans tucked into another and quietly tended to the dreams that don’t yet have visible form. We’ve also nurtured a new shared space for the community: a place to gather, cook, share, and be together outdoors. While it’s not yet a “formal” structure, its value and presence are real, and it’s already begun to bring people together in small, meaningful ways.

These acts, both literal and symbolic, are the kind of seeds that winter holds. They are small steps that, when nurtured over time, will grow into something much larger: community action, shared experiences, and a stronger connection to the land and to one another.

The fire that burns under the Wolf Moon reminds us that even in stillness, there is power. Even in quiet reflection, energy is moving, shaping, and creating. Resting doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It means that growth is taking place beneath the surface, preparing for the season when light and warmth return.

As the days stay short and the nights stretch long, there is value in slowing down, in honouring our small actions, and in watching how life unfolds in its own time. The seeds we plant now, in soil, in intention, in relationships, carry the potential to blossom when the sun returns.

May this winter hold space for integration, reflection, and gentle tending. And may we remember that even the smallest gestures: a cleared patch of earth, a handful of seeds, a shared meal - are the roots of something much greater, waiting to emerge in the spring.