Once I disparaged the darkness.  Part was childish fear of things unknown, while part was the holding from my Christian past that taught that good was light and evil was dark.  I wanted so much to be a part of the good and the light, and yet I always felt as if I walked in twilight, that cool grey that slipped between warm light and cold dark.  And when I let my spirit roam, I slipped into each of those worlds and learned the secrets to be had there.  I still reveled in the light, the shining brightness and explosion of color that could be found there.  But I also learn to slip silently into dark places to appreciate their beauty and silently hear their tales.

With the coming of winter, I feel myself shrinking down, as if the space I occupy must lessen with the coming darkness.  I don’t seek the bright lights and loud music during this season that comes, but prefer the comfort of small gatherings, lit by candle and firelight (or lamps, as we don’t have a fireplace for that).  Of voices that carry gently between friends, in both song and story.  When I look out at a cold night, I don’t see terrors, but possibilities.  Oh, I know that wandering into the night can bring death, but so long as you move carefully, respectfully, and know when it is time to turn back, then there are beautiful things to be seen, wondrous things to learn.  I would rather study the sky when it is cold, when the brisk air is clear as crystals and you can see all that the heavens have to offer.

Just as the crones and sages of life have much wisdom to whisper to a listening ear, the earth has its own secrets and wisdom to share in this time of its life.  We must only be willing to stop and to listen.  We must be willing to step bravely into the dark and explore the wonders of the night.