Gentle beginnings.

snowflakes, shoots and sparkles — a bridge between years.

Hello I’m Lyndsay, I am so glad you have found your way here…

Welcome to Story & Thread., a cosy, welcoming place to be inspired by the quiet power of noticing beauty & wonder. Here we explore our creative lives through the lens of the seasons, and what it means to tell our stories with meaningful PR.

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“You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows…”

—Mark Strand, The Coming of Light.

Dearest reader…

Happy New Year!

How were the festivities for you? I hope that you were able to find moments of calm amongst chaos, magic in the mayhem — and that you have been able to fill your cup (in whatever way that looks to you).

My Christmas-time/Yuletide has been both fun and exhausting — without much of a plan as the Christmas holidays began, we found our way — staying in London and enjoying a combination of low-key local days, time at home, and a few festive adventures in town.

At the same time, there are a lot of things we didn’t get around to doing, and I have had a lot of thoughts along the way (!) — I have wanted to carve out the time to write to you, but have found myself too tired to put pen to paper (or indeed, fingers to keys) in the evenings.

Many evenings have been spent wrapping and preparing (this has remained ongoing as we celebrate my son’s 4th birthday today!), or finding myself curled up with a festive film, and so I recorded a voicenote for you when I found a pocket of time to walk in the wintry woods on New Year’s Day…

Hello January — the most misunderstood month of the year?

A frosty January in the garden.

As many of you know, I avoid much of the January ‘New Year New Me’ and messaging and goal-setting urgency that we seem to be bombarded with at this time of year, whilst we remain in the chilly depths of winter. It has always felt like too much of an abrupt arrival in amongst the languid haze of Romjul/Twixtmas, and a stark contrast to the cosiness of Christmas to me.

I prefer to see these early days of the new year as a time to ease into rather than rushing forward, of dreaming expansively rather than restricting ourselves, and living softly instead of resolving to make sweeping changes straightaway.

Below are two of my January-themed posts, a time I love to write about, as one of the most misunderstood months of the year in my opinion…

Although we feel demands for freshness, restraint and transformation in January, it is a continuation of the months that have come before. The middle month, the belly of winter, it is often a feat of endurance, and so it is a time for the soft, expansive and the slow.

I am trusting that during this month, my thoughts will become slow-forming concepts, ideas and intentions ready to unfurl as the buds reach a fullness of potential at Imbolc, the festival celebrating the first signs of spring, at the start of February.

I feel sure that I will be layering my thoughts of soft and slow in these posts with my perspective from this January soon, and I’d love to hear how you feel about this month too…

Befriending the dark and holding the light.

I have been reflecting about how I continue to find more contentment in the short, dark days of winter as each year passes, whilst also being comforted by all of the glimmers of light I can find. The first thing I do in the morning is to open the curtains and take in the colour of the sky — sometimes still in complete darkness with twinkly lights visible through our neighbours’ windows, sometimes a chalky cloud blanket, or a watercolour palette of pastel shades.

Next, I turn on the fairy lights that are entwined with ivy wrapped around the banister; and switch on the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree (though I realise these days are numbered!), and light candles that glow and diffuse a familiar Christmassy scent. I bathe in the cool luminescence of the pale sunshine that floods our living room at the back of the house on a clear day, I marvel at the piercing clarity of the winter moons (hello Full Wolf Moon!), and I have been spotting glittery stars everywhere, both in the sky and in the faded finery of Christmas.

Lights and ivy on the banister.

This kindling, holding and honouring of light feels like a very natural urge that we have been dancing with for thousands of years — in my voicenote above, I touch on some of the light-filled festivals that we have been celebrating since antiquity to the present day, during the darker part of the year — from the diva lamps and fireworks of Diwali, to the bonfires of Samhain, the lanterns of Martinmas, the symbolic candles of Hanukkah, Saturnalia and Advent, the lamps and red fruits of Yalda Night, the ceremonial burning of the Yule Log at the winter solstice, and the starry lights of Christmas.

The twinkling lights that adorn our homes and streets during the festive season are more than decorations, they carry deep symbolic meanings reminding us of the returning light of the sun, the tending and protecting of our inner light in the darkness that surrounds us, and perhaps most significantly, the warmth conjured by community and connection.

In times of darkness and division in the world that we live in, this quote from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks feels pertinent, "in dark times, there are those who curse the darkness and others who light a candle.”

Your reflections on precious winter light.

I adored receiving your reflections on light and darkness in the days around the winter solstice…

From liz ❍↟☽ in Stockholm, Sweden,

“the light here in Stockholm today is completely different than the light for the entire last month. We have only had twenty five minutes of sunshine in all of December - it is historically the darkest December since 1934! But, today. Today… SUN! It’s unbelievably magical and feels like promise and hope. I’ve loved the dark this month, but this feels completely fresh and new. A hint of life in the middle of winter”.

From Lauren Barber in Kent, UK,

“the light today feels soft…comforting…and is calling me to just be gentle and take my time. I’m glad it’s not a bright sunny day as it feels more tender to be under a neutral blanket of sky on this day. We are going to candlelit carols this evening which feels like a lovely way to honour the sparkle and twinkle of this season”.

From Sophie Norris-Wagstaff, South Downs, UK,

“dusk crept in as early as I’ve known it, washed down from heavy skies by leaden rain rods that catch like flint sparks on blackbird alarm calls in the holly hedge. Even the moon has turned her ancient face away. We are in the deep dark, the womb dark, like the papery bulbs planted in the good soil we settle and shift deep underground.

Even the cat chooses the light of the fireside, watching in approval as I light a candle in the lamp in the window. I mean it as a defiance against the dark, and yet it seems to solidify the darkness beyond the glass, calling to it so that it presses tight up against the pane. This will be a long night. Tomorrow, the snowdrop spears will stand just a little taller, the thrush’s bell will chime a dawn, and cat will venture out again on velvet paws into winter sunlight. And I shall drink tea in the doorway, and wonder why we were ever scared of the dark at all”.

From Linda Goodridge in Wales, UK,

“I have always simply enjoyed the cosiness of a dark January and the bright long days of July without ever giving it a thought.

This isn’t so much an appreciation of the deep winter glimmers, but my appreciation of a sky that tells it’s own story. There is a theme here for me. I have an affinity to the realm of the sky.

This autumn has been one like no other I can remember. We have had tropical rain showers followed by the most amazingly wonderful sun and rainbows galore. The sky has danced with a life that is indescribable. It’s been a tantalising iridescence with flashes of pinks, purples and reds. But more than anything I was aware of an expanse of seemingly eternity. It felt as if this iridescence had formed a protective shield around itself whilst somehow reflecting itself back, drawing me in to its mystique. It was as if the sky was revealing a clarity, of what I don’t know.

This has led me to follow the sky into December. I have long been used to waking up in the dark and having to put all the lights on just to get going and then as my day is set to begin, I replace the synthetic brightness with the soft gentle glow of candles and fairy lights with the hope (and expectation) that this gentleness sets the precedence of the day I want to have.

But my absolute favourite light is as the day fades and it darkens outside, the sky dances to a different tune. The sky seems to descend beckoning me into it — I feel like I can scoop some of it into my hands and as I inhale the magic of it, my soul begins to beat in tandem to the sky’s rhythm”.

**How does the light look to you this January?

A gentle bridge between years.

Since the closing days of December, I have been building a gentle bridge between years that is helping me to ease into January…

• Home in winter — I have been leaning into the remaining fragments of the festive season. I am never one to be desperate to clear the decks and love to hang onto the decorations and cosiness for as long as possible. This weekend we will have to say goodbye to the Christmas tree, and I will begin to slowly transform the festive decorations into winter adornments (with some added birthday sparkle for the January birthdays in our house) that provide beauty, colour and light whilst it remains stark and still outside.

  Paper snowflakes remain hanging on the windows and in the entrance; holly and ivy trail alongside the shoots of paperwhites, candles, stars and winter citrus decorations will stay for as long as possible, and we have added paper pompoms in fresh pastels and birthday bunting this weekend.

  

  Snowflakes in our entrance.

  To honour winter as the season of home, I have taken the paywall off A Storied Home. in winter until the end of February — a very gentle guide to creating a sanctuary for softening into the season, led by the senses, and our stories to cultivate a feeling of sacredness and homecoming.

  It includes,

  - gentle intentions for creating softness and sparkle at home in winter

  - an exploration of the power of the fire element in bringing warmth to our homes, including warming rituals to appeal to each of the senses

  - stories of a winter garden

  

• Time in a winter garden — I have finally managed to plant all of the bulbs I bought over autumn (better late than never I say…!) and it has been so restoring to spend time in a quiet, frosty garden. I find calm out in the garden like nowhere else, knowing my children are tucked up in the warmth of the living room and requiring minimal intervention from me (especially when they are watching a film!). I have been sweeping away dead leaves, cutting back last year’s growth that is brown at the edges, making space for bulbs and freshness.

  

  A quiet twilight winter sky in the garden (no filter!)

  Snowdrop spears are already standing strong, and narcissi shoots are visible in almost every corner of the garden from previous year’s bulbs. It feels like a tangible reminder of the continuing cycles of life, death and rebirth, and that we need to remove debris, to make space for light and newness. Whilst immersing myself deep in a winter garden, the sight of hardy shoots resolute in the cold earth bring me hope and anticipation for the days ahead.

  You can read more about my time in the garden in winter below…

  

• Oracles and omens — in the final days of December, I found a precious hour to myself to create my oracle spread for the year ahead, a gentle practice inspired by liz ❍↟☽, this year using the Folklore oracle deck.

  I pulled twelve cards and arranged them month-by-month in a circle, writing down the card for each month with its meanings and prompts, alongside a talisman from my daily observations during the Omen Days (an ancient Celtic practice that takes place over twelve days from 26th December to 6th January, see Claire Brown’s recent post for more details and a beautiful guide to taking part) a time of quiet divination which asks us to observe the world around us, to look for meanings that correspond to each month of the year ahead.

  

  My oracle spread for the year ahead.

  This year, I intend to return to each card and omen each month to see what comes up. My card for January is Moon Phases, with the prompt, how can you radiate light in the dark? which feels apt after all of the pondering on winter glimmers that I have been doing…

**Do you have any practices that help you adjust to a new year?

Winter dates for the diary in The Beauty Thread. membership.

Are you looking for a gentle start to the New Year?

We will gather from 11-12.30pm GMT on Wednesday 14th January to embrace a soft, expansive and slow start to the year, in the Gather & Tend. winter co-working space.

We will take time to TEND to ourselves, to reflect, dream and sense what shape the year might take, with time to dip our toes into our work in 2026, individually but together — from the comfort of home in the container of a cosy online co-working space.

The co-working space is available to all within The Beauty Thread. membership, where I will send the link to register soon. You would be so welcome to join us…

*The Softening in winter retreat will take place on Wednesday 25th February 2026. I will soon be welcoming contributions to the retreat and accompanying magazine-style guidebook and will send more details about the themes for your interpretation soon.

All contributors will receive a complimentary month’s membership to The Beauty Thread.

See links to The Softening in late autumn in case you missed it…

The Softening edit: a collection of ways to find softness in darkening days.

I would love to hear how you are feeling as we journey both deeper into winter, and into a new year.

Much wintry love,