Assembling the Light
Gardens Aglow Cape Cod - Heritage Museums & Gardens 2025
“Light looks different in winter.”
— Mary Oliver
In spite of all the rushing around that happens at this time of year, December has a way of slowing things down. The days feel noticeably shorter. The air more brittle, as if it’s settling in. Even familiar places seem to pause, perhaps just to listen a bit more closely than usual.
December doesn’t actually deliver us more light.
Instead, and this is what I believe, it encourages us to assemble more of it to soften the darkness all around us.
Just a few days ago, we traveled to Garden’s Aglow Cape Cod at Heritage Museums & Gardens in Sandwich, Massachusetts. I returned home with a heart full from the warmth we gathered on a brisk December night.
The photo above is the windmill on the Heritage grounds. On a night when the winds were strong, it stood still. It was a quiet reminder that it’s possible to remain steady in the midst of all the noise.
The assembly of Christmas lights throughout the gardens was a vivid reminder of how light can come to life from the ground up. Literally thousands upon thousands of small points guided the eye forward. Not with urgency, but patiently, almost frozen in time, like the still blades of the windmill.
No turning.
No rushing.
And yet, the entire scene was unmistakably alive.
What struck me most wasn’t the beauty alone, though it was beautiful. It was the warmth of family and friends weaving their way through the cold December night.
The festive lights of this season aren’t meant to overpower the darkness. They don’t erase it. Instead, I see two elements working together, softening the edges of each other and offering just enough light to keep moving forward.
They didn’t provide much clarity about what lay around the bend. They simply offered the next few steps. There’s something deeply kind about that. Small beacons of hope, guiding us just a little farther along the path.
We often connect light with motion. The seasons of light oblige us with a steady, predictable path across the sky. It’s a kind of progress we can measure.
December, though, reminds us that not everything needs to be moving to be working. There is energy in stillness. In warmth. In family and friendship. Finding our way can exist without certainty.
Maybe this is winter’s quiet teaching.
Christmas is filled with moments that feel like an entire season unto themselves. It’s often when our most meaningful work rises quietly to the surface. When the world feels louder, heavier, or less defined, we can take the time to assemble light carefully, piece by piece, using what already remains within us.
Not borrowed light.
Not loud light.
Just enough of our own.
There’s something comforting in that. The idea that we don’t have to solve the darkness in order to move through it. We simply need to pay attention to what’s already there. The small acts of kindness. Intentional gestures. Gentle signs of care that help light the way forward.
This time of year isn’t so much about brilliance.
It’s about presence.
About noticing where light already exists. Listening and allowing it to do its quiet work. Trusting that even when the path bends away from view, something steady still waits ahead.
Talk soon…
G