Planting by Moonlight: Growing in the Dark and Trusting What You Can’t Yet See

I’ve been planting by the moon this summer.

Not because I think it guarantees perfect growth, but because it gives me rhythm. A shape to hold onto. A sense that not everything needs to be forced to bloom before it’s ready.

New moons for setting intention. Full moons for release. Waning ones for rest. Waxing ones for small beginnings. A pattern older than us all.

In a world that demands clarity, this feels like a quiet rebellion.

I don’t always know what I’m planting. Some of it is practical—potatoes, beans, leafy greens. But some of it is metaphorical: patience, trust, forgiveness. Things that don’t take root overnight. Things that live beneath the surface for longer than we’re comfortable with.

Gardening by the moon teaches me to work with the unseen. To pause when there’s nothing happening on the surface. To trust that the dark is part of the process, not a failure, not a flaw, but a necessary phase.

This season, I’m letting the moon mark the time. I’m planting things I can’t yet see. And trusting that something is stirring, even in the dark.

Growth isn’t linear. It’s lunar. Let the tide guide you. You’re already enough.

Trust what takes time.

Sarah x