Before the Bloom

There is a particular kind of quiet that settles in just before change. It’s not the silence of absence, but a fullness—like the air thick with scent before a summer storm, or the way the earth holds its breath before a seed dares to split. In this space, nothing is blooming yet, but everything is preparing.

This is the moment of becoming. The bud is still closed, but already the petals know their shape. The wing is not yet unfurled, but already it remembers flight. We often mistake this pause for stagnation, for being stuck. But in truth, it is the sacred threshold—the body gathering, the spirit listening, the heart loosening its grip on the familiar.

There is wisdom in the stillness before motion, in the darkness before the first blush of light. Nature does not rush her cycles, and neither should we. The bloom will come. But before it does, let yourself rest in the not-yet. Let yourself belong to the in-between.

You are not behind. You are not broken. You are simply, beautifully, before the bloom.