My small autumn stories.

noticing, collecting and framing a fragment in time.

Hello, I am so glad you have found your way here… I’m Lyndsay — mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR.

Step inside Story & Thread., a cosy, layered home where the threads of creativity, interiors and mothering meet. Here, we unearth the stories from the seasons of our lives, with a house & a garden at the heart, and everyday beauty as our guide…

Autumn things.

“Nothing gold can stay.”

―Robert Frost.

Dearest reader

How are you feeling in these dark days as we spiral towards winter?

We have been plunged into the depths of dark, icy weather over the last week or so in London (despite a weekend of freakishly warm stormy weather that stripped the trees of their last leaves).

On days that are heavy with cloud, I feel as though I am living in a sort of half light all day, but when the sun shines, it is piercing and clear for a good few hours, revealing portals to other worlds, before slipping silently away. Either way, it is a long time since the golden, hazy days of early autumn that seemed at the time that they might linger forever.

Guided by the idea of beauty being something deeper than what we glance at on the surface, I am sharing my small stories of autumn.

It has been a gift to pause and look back over a season of writing and living, to realise the richness within the season — filled with fragments of wonder wrapped up in the everyday. By taking time to notice and observe, we can place reverence on the daily joy that is subtly nestled into our lives, and is more important than we know.

Will you journey through autumn with me…?

Join me on a journey through autumn…

September shifts: a new way to be.

September, as it unfolded, felt like both an initiation and a deep immersion. There were sweeping changes that melded our days differently and ushered in a new way of being.

Otherworldly in October.

As always, October brought with it a sense of the otherworldly. Weighty lead skies coupled with pockets of low, radiant sunshine provided a dramatic backdrop for a changing ombre palette.

November’s necessary pause.

Without the golden shimmer of September and October, we see more clearly in November. Shedding layers reveals stark silhouettes — negative space emerges after the fullness of previous months.

There is a stillness, a necessary pause to cultivate clarity. A pause that reminds me that growth never really begins or ends — that it is a transfer of energy and a continuation of all that has come before…

My autumn things.

Autumn blooms.

The garden in autumn is gleaming with jewels amongst the browning, crumpling, and fading.

• soft pink Japanese anenomes dance and swirl on their long stems in the warm breeze.

• poppies, calendula and cosmos continue to flower, weaving whimsical colour where they grow.

• rising mists of star-like asters make their way up the fence bringing a new dream-like feel to that corner of the garden.

• bringing home jugs of jewelled dahlias from hazy afternoons in the flower fields.

• sweet peas, still.

• messages from autumn flowers.

• kaleidoscopic leaves in deep burgundy and blood red to dusky pink, gingerbread and gold.

• bronze florets of ornamental grasses ruffle in the wind.

• a rose in the garden, suspended in time.

• hydrangeas tarnished with time, their flower heads still beautiful despite their age spots and rusted edges.

• an unkempt, dishevelled lawn, interspersed with wildflower weeds and burgeoning mushrooms.

• a new muted palette as colour drains away, space emerges and the promise of planting bulbs reminds me that nothing ever really dies.

  

  Autumn blooms — kaleidoscopic leaves, soft pink Japanese anenomes, jugs of dahlias.

At home.

At the end of autumn, the days begin and end in the dark. As the light of the sun dwindles, I am drawn back inside and feel a call towards the sparks of light within.

• incandescent sunrises and luminous clouds give way to ice blue skies.

• a sense of half light as sun shifts into a sudden descent in the early afternoon.

• a prismatic hint of the aurora borealis in a sky scattered with stars — an unexpected gift of late night beauty and wonder through the window.

• the glistening call and the lingering glow of autumn moons.

• a shimmering fireworks display viewed through our back bedroom windows as if it was choreographed just for us.

• adorning our home with pumpkins, cobwebs, a paper chain of ghosts and colourful pleated decorations to mark the otherworldly portal of All Hallowtide and Samhain.

• my long-standing autumnal tradition of choosing two hydrangea flower heads in their autumnal antiqued tones at the local florist to keep at home whilst they dry into faded, papery petals that last for years.

• a jaunty striped seating acquisition for the living room.

• unexpected dawn snowflakes fall fast and full much to the delight of my children (and me!).

• November sparks become sparkles as we decorate the Christmas tree, early this year…

  

  Autumn at home — paper pleated decorations, afternoon light, a dusting of snow.

Out and about.

In the early autumn days we bask in the lingering golden light. By late autumn, we venture out in the short hours of daylight before retreating back to be held by the bones of home.

• the woods become an enchanted forest in autumn — a soft filter of sunlight catches the parcel paper leaves as they float towards the earth.

• a mottled mosaic of crumpled birch, hornbeam and oak leaves create a soft carpet on the woodland floor.

• mist enshrouds everything, nothing is untouched, it is as though the world is cloaked in a smudged, foggy film. Outlines are faint and blurred, and yet everything is illuminated, both dazzling and dreamy.

• finding a glorious and whimsical fly agaric mushroom as a totem of good luck.

• feeling the veils of Halloween magic at dusk with merriment and mayhem in the park — illuminated by fairy lights and powered by mulled wine (me) and sweet treats (them).

• discovering the joys of a local toy shop with a yellow tunnel slide.

• celebrating very special family birthdays.

• turning 39 myself with coffee and a toastie at Lauderdale House.

• autumnal words from Wordsworth displayed by a local cafe,

  “Wild is the music of autumnal winds

  Amongst the faded woods.”

• navigating the highs and lows of the school run on scooters/bikes/ buggies through leafy streets.

• on the trail of artful owls.

• seasonal coffee and croissant one-on-one dates with my little ones in many of our favourite places — the pink café, the boulangerie, the koala café, the one with books, the Italian café, the play café and the stately home.

  

  Out and about in autumn — woodland adventures, coffee and colouring, Halloween fun.

Soul stuff.

Seasonal cues act as prompts for my own creative unfolding. Autumn signals the beginning of a shift from manifesting growth outwardly, to tipping inward, to move towards a quieter, unseen growth and expansion below ground level.

• stepping into the final year of my 30s is feeling less like an emergence from early motherhood and more like a homecoming and a becoming (more of myself), as I bring everything together and hold it tightly in both hands.

• watching my daughter find her wings at school and taking notes from the traditional meanings of the chaffinch (the emblem of her class), a songbird that symbolises self-discovery, resilience and inner wisdom.

• a precious, restoring weekend in the depths of the Norfolk countryside in the cocoon of a yoga retreat for radiant rest — with beautiful food, nourishing movement and heart-swelling chats with dear friends.

• fine-tuning my ideas for The Beauty Thread., an invitation to notice, hold and create beauty in our own worlds, adding a textured, tactile layer of meaning that nourishes us from the inside out.

• crafting A Seasonal Salon for autumn, a morning gathered around the (virtual) community fire, to reflect, notice and weave the beauty of the season. We looked to earth and sky with frost, fireworks, flowers, sparks and stars — through seasonal contemplations inspired by art, poetry and prose.

• pressing the last of the autumn blooms for wildflowers and words letters to beauty weaving friends.

• adopting the Wednesday waffle — a new tradition amongst a close group of friends as we give a one minute life update each week via video note. So far it is a beautiful way of staying in closer contact amidst the demands of life.

• the promise and potential of a beautiful new notebook that landed on my desk as a birthday gift from

  Lauren Barber
  , heralding a time to dream anew.

• learning from a four-year-old that if “everything is art, we are art”.

• taking precious time to walk back from school through the woods to find portals of low morning light leading me on my path.

Autumn soul stuff — light portals in the woods, beautiful food on the yoga retreat, dreaming up ideas for The Beauty Thread. during some glorious alone-time on my 39th birthday.

What are your small autumn stories? What did autumn mean to you?

Thank you so much for reading — I would love to chat more in the comments about your autumn, or of course feel free to send me an email with your thoughts, I always love to hear from you.

And if you’re not quite done with autumn, you can read my recent autumn writing here…

A time to gather, layer and harvest.

Wrap yourself in wonder with the celestial flowers of autumn.

Will you follow the call of beauty?

Sensing stillness, space and sparks in November.

The Beauty Thread., is a new paid membership within Story & Thread. Through a series of seasonal offerings, The Beauty Thread. is an invitation to notice, hold and create beauty in our own worlds, woven together by the ever-changing seasons, both around us and within us. When we come to know beauty, it transforms us, the onlooker, into an exquisite piece of life’s tapestry. Subscriptions to The Beauty Thread. will cost an introductory price of £5 per month or £45 per year.