Making space for gentle alchemy this winter.
welcoming winter, embracing embers and introducing the season...
I’m Lyndsay, mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR. Story & Thread. is a weekly letter exploring the intersection of creativity, mothering and the living world, with a home and a garden at the heart...
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“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”
―Edith Sitwell.
Hello everyone
I hope you have landed gently in December.
I am feeling into the many layers that this month brings — the welcome commitment to comfort and cosiness, the entrancing magic that comes with the season, alongside a slight disquiet that I have not yet fully immersed myself in all that I need/want to do (I am yet to make the list, let alone tick it off…!), whilst reminding myself that winter urges us to keep it simple.
Today I am writing about my experience of winter both around and within me. I am setting an intention for gentle alchemy, meaning that I don’t intend to start anything new in this season but instead make space for deep visioning, to reflect on the months of growth and to allow things to simmer below the surface, embracing the embers and a slow burn for a while…
Welcoming winter.
As each year passes, I find more and more comfort in winter. A season of piercing cold and depths of darkness that once filled me with dread — I now sense the silent softness that sits side by side with the harsh conditions, and the depth of beauty in the dark. It is a time when the wash of half light is a mere glimpse, affording only a brief opportunity for ‘doing’, before retreating back to be held by the bones of our home.
Where I once mourned the loss of vibrancy in the outdoor world, I now see the necessity in the emptiness, the need to strip back and make sense of ourselves in the negative space and silhouettes that find both form and formlessness around us.
I spent a couple of hours at the weekend out in the bitter cold of the garden determined to plant the bulbs that I had bought weeks before. I remember planting bulbs at a similar time last year, and although fearing that I was too late, we were rewarded with unfolding life and colour by the time spring began to stir (I have since gleaned from Monty Don and my neighbour that as long as they are in before Christmas-time, all will be well!). The sweetest robin was a most welcome companion following me around the garden as I cleared space at the surface and moved earth to plant these precious bulbs of hope.
Despite the friendly robin and many other birds that seem busy among the bare branches in these wintry days, the garden is quiet, there is a hush in the air and the ground is cold. Most plants are a sparse outline of what they once were and in the process of dying back into the earth. A layer of leaves like pieces of parcel paper covers the ground like a blanket — I am reluctant to move them as I feel like they are providing some protection and a cloak over which the invisible growth is happening silently below.
Frost brings a magical layer to the exposed, raw beauty. There is a sprinkling of magic that effortlessly decorates the garden, bestowing a crispness and quiet clarity in those rare moments of daylight.
This season I intend to allow the garden space to rest and observe the new shoots that are already beginning to appear. Here, I look forward to exploring the garden and my surroundings throughout winter from Yule to Imbolc and beyond…
A time for home.
More than being in the garden at this time of year, winter draws me indoors, into the shelter of our home. The short, dark days lend themselves to hunkering down and bringing warmth and light inside, creating a glow that imbues our homes with spirit.
I am drawn to bringing the season into our home with me, draping it in ivy and filling it with twinkly light. As the living world empties and slows into stillness, it seems that the trappings of the festive season urges us to fill our time and space with lists and busyness.
Instead this winter, I am looking inward to create slow, gradual and instinctive family rituals and traditions that feel spontaneous and natural. Here, I will be looking for the meaning of home in winter, the nature of evolving traditions and the layers that they bring.
The hearth.
Fire within a hearth has been an essential part of a home for thousands of years. As well as signifying the comfort of home, ‘hearth’ can also represent a vital or creative centre within a person, or a civilisation as a whole.
I intend to sense into not necessarily sparks, but smouldering embers at this time of year, drawing out meaning for the slowest burn. I will be exploring fire as the balancing element for winter, bringing warmth and light to our homes, communities and our own creativity.
A gathering.
Whilst much of the outside world is hibernating and we too are drawn to nesting in our homes, winter is also a natural time to gather. Throughout history, communities have come together in winter to share warmth, light and food. Rest is essential, but we can also be nourished by companionship and community.
The emptiness of the landscape is contrasted with the fullness that many of the winter festivals bring into our lives. Of course this month sees the festivals of Yule or the winter solstice, Christmas and Hanukkah which are all very much laced in light. We bring glimmers with candles and sparkling lights to our homes and celebrations, lighting the otherwise invisible and unseen in a wash of magic.
I intend to forge intentional connections this winter, reflecting visions and deeply laid plans. Here, community will be at the centre of everything, nurturing ideas for new collaborations and gatherings for the lighter days ahead.
Wintering.
Our sense of self and creativity is deeply entwined. In the past, I didn’t recognise the value of cyclical living and was unknowingly and unintentionally prescribed to the ‘trance of busyness’, a state of always on-ness, of trying to do it all — until my body stopped talking to me. A long process of homecoming led me deep into the wisdom of living in tune with the seasons unfolding around and within us.
I now see that as the living world hibernates, winter is essential for deep rest and stillness for us too.
As a hush falls on the earth in winter, I hear my thoughts more clearly. As we are plunged into darkness, my deepest visions become brighter. As the cold earth holds potential for new growth, I trust in the invisible growth below the surface.
In a recent yoga workshop entitled ‘Our Bodies Ourselves’, named after the seminal 1970s text, my wise and supportive teacher Lynn Murphy spoke about how our back body was once our protective shell (in the womb) and the need for nurturing our soft centres and underbelly. I found it interesting as so often it is the front of our bodies that we hold, grip and present to the outside world. Hibernation then, calls for nourishing ourselves from inside out, from our molten core that holds both our power and our tenderness.
I intend to work with the smouldering embers that represent our vital creative, inner fire. I hope to imbue my days with rituals of reading, writing and moving by candlelight, trusting in the gentle alchemy that will fuel my creativity in the growth seasons ahead. Here, we will explore how creativity unfolds in winter.
And before I go, I wanted to include some meaningful advent initiatives and ideas that have been bringing me joy,
Elizabeth at
shared the beautiful Waldorf Steiner advent tradition that they bring into their home each year which serves as a tribute to the season a way to honour its beauty…
Emily Smith of
has created a restful advent calendar, a daily guide to both inspire delight and help us feel grounded this season, I highly recommend checking out her thoughtful ideas…- as generous as ever has created an alternative advent calendar — in the spirit of giving, she is unboxing an inspiring writer each day, in order to bring the joy of connection to all over this festive period…
- is presenting a beautiful advent calendar amplifying smaller writers that deserve to be seen…
I am honoured to be a part of
’s 12 days of Advent: a Substack Community Celebration. I loved sharing my fire ritual for connecting home and heart this winter…
Lastly, I am so happy to have recently discovered and connected with Eva-Maria Smith of
, she is sharing twenty four letters this advent — of song, poetry, recipe and story. You can catch up with these beautiful offerings here…
I’d love to hear how you are as we approach both the shortest, darkest day and the light-filled festive celebrations. Do you feel as though you are winding down or gearing up?
And I would love to hear your favourite winter traditions…
Thank you for reading and as ever I really look forward to your thoughts, hope we can chat more in the comments.
Such a lovely wintry post! And your Christmas tree is beautiful 🤩
Such a beautiful read! And thank you for the mention! ❤️