The vineyard in winter gives us a picture of hope.

Every branch that bore fruit this past year has been pruned back.  If the vine could talk, we could imagine it describing adversity, sadness, and excruciating discomfort in the pruning process. Perhaps, to the vine, pruning feels like wounding or like all hope is lost.  There certainly is no evidence of fruitfulness.  But if we lean in, we can see tiny, brown buds left where the old cane was cut off.