My small winter 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…
“And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn't feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin”.
—Philip Pullman.
Dearest reader
Here we are on the last day of February, before the first day of meterological spring tomorrow. How does it feel to you as we move out of the depths? Can you feel the light lingering for longer?
Winter has felt full, and although there hasn’t been much opportunity for rest and stillness in some senses, the darkness has encouraged me to live quietly —my world has felt gloriously small, centred around familiarity, and filled with the little things of life.
When I am pulled out of myself and in many directions during the day, the long, dark evenings have gathered me back inwards. The hours of dark have felt enveloping and have ushered me indoors. Whilst doing nothing hasn’t been an option (or really my preference), I have been filling up this winter, by cocooning in the evenings, taking my time to catch up on the day, writing and reading — connecting inwardly has felt like a form of radiant rest in the dark.
Guided by the idea of beauty being something deeper than what we glance at on the surface, I am sharing my small stories of winter. 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 winter with me…?
Join me on a journey through winter…
*December darkness.
December was a deep dive into the velvety, enveloping dark with a hint of festive sparkle.
*The magical in-between.
The end of December and beginning of January were lingering, liminal days, filled with winter treasures. It's a time when the world seems to slow down and rest becomes a collective priority.
*A softer January.
January is the middle month of winter, a continuation of everything that has come before — it is a time for softness, expansion and easing in slowly.
*February shimmers.
During February, there is a tangible lengthening of the light. The glimpses of light have prompted me to reach for my seed packets and prepare to sow seeds into soil, just as it feels like the time is coming to kindle the dreams of winter months, and lace them in light.
You can read/watch/listen to more of my winter reflections below…
A winter garden.
In winter, the garden becomes a place of muted, restrained beauty, almost haunting in its stillness, aside from the darting to and fro of garden birds — I have been drawn to it in a quiet quest for calm each day, more than in any winter before.
a quiet and empty winter garden breathes space into our surroundings, answering attempts to make sense of the world, and ourselves in the silhouettes and shadows around us.
although muted and mostly devoid of colour, the garden has like a corner of wild woodland with its soft moss, jewelled evergreens and curling, browning ferns.
wrapping up in layers of warmth, donning my sturdy winter boots and getting out into the garden, with a hot drink in hand, and often the words of others in my ears has been one of my most precious winter joys.
time spent under a spell of winter light and fresh, cool air has been bracing, reviving and restoring.
winter in the garden has led me to both clearing old growth and planting new bulbs into the ground1. It has felt essential to make space for the gauzy winter light to reach the earth, where the determined shoots are making their way skyward, awaiting the right moment to open.
small clusters of snowdrops have opened their pearlescent petals; shy hellebores bring unexpected colour to shady corners; and wild primrose leaves in the corner of our grass promise the pale yellow light to come.
the gift of winter’s silver half light — some days, a thick cloud blanket, others, the clearest quartz.
the garden glinting in the February sunlight, and suddenly spring feels in reach.
shoots, sun rays and rainbows at the back of the garden.
bringing in a posy of winter flowers for my desk.
Winter in the garden.
At home.
Waking and returning home in the dark, within only a sliver of half-light for much of the day — there is comfort in knowing that most things begin in the dark.
I have loved the inky darkness of the winter mornings — opening the curtains to reveal more darkness beyond, only the outlines of trees and houses visible, whilst neighbouring homes gradually reveal twinkly lights telling the tiny stories of the lives lived there.
dawn has been a slow unveiling — the morning mayhem unfolding to a backdrop of borrowed light and a gradually shifting watercolour sky.
stairs lit by fairy lights, a twinkling tree, wax melting another day away on the advent candle in the kitchen.
venturing out in all weathers to walk to school, and then coming home to gather myself inwards once again.
winter decorating with pink velvet bows, gold, silver and green adornment on the tree, snowflakes and shadows on the wall in the afternoon sun, paper pompoms, star garlands, floral bunting, strung up dried oranges, and plenty of ivy from the garden.
finding wonder in the Paperwhites that opened their white star petals on the last day of the year.
evenings wrapping presents in my makeshift workshop for Christmas and winter birthdays to a suitably festive playlist or
.afternoons at home as darkness falls, playing with new toys, puzzles and games, cutting out paper snowflakes, and watching festive films.
making wish biscuits and solstice (spiced carrot and coconut) cake inspired by
.birthday food — pancakes, cupcakes topped with edible flowers for classmates, fairy bread, jelly, chocolate cakes of varying themes.
midwinter decorations slowly replaced by Valentine’s hearts.
piercing and glistening winter moons.
spotting planets parading in the sky through a bedroom window.
snowdrop art by Isla Middleton.
burning festive essential oils and Christmas candles alongside early spring blooms, and a piece of amethyst (the February birthstone).
a new layer of ‘us’ finding its way into the walls of our home.
Winter at home.
Out and about.
Short hours of daylight gave us small opportunities for venturing beyond the confines of home. Getting out in the wintry weather helped me to more deeply align with the season, it is often not as bad as it seems through a misted window.
spotting winter treasures on the way to school in the homes that line our route — from snowflakes, magical lights and Christmas decorations, to primroses, hellebores, narcissi, soft magnolia buds, and the first signs of spring.
as in every season, the local ancient woods have been a sanctuary, place of renewal, and source of joy in the winter months — I have been drawn there for solo walks on slow Saturday mornings, trudging through mud, noticing roots, moss, catkins, mushrooms and lichen along my path; as well as enjoying story-led adventure trails with the little ones, followed by necessary refuelling here and here.
the loveliness of spending cosy times with a new generation of old friends.
walking the same routes day after day has felt like making footprints and weaving ourselves into our locality, often saying hello to people we see often and feel like we know.
my daughter’s first performance as an enthusiastic angel in the school nativity, featuring obligatory tinsel halo. Followed by an appearance at our local theatre in the Beatrix Potter Ballet with her ballet class.
adventures into town for flowers and bagels at Columbia Road Flower Market and Beigel Bake, Brick Lane.
living Christmases past at the Museum of the Home.
a New Year’s Day coffee at a festive London hotel, complete with enchanting gingerbread village, in a quiet and rainy West End.
a wonderfully restoring (and discombobulating) holiday in the sunshine and blue skies — comprising of sunsets, crashing waves, volcanic sand, a luminous full moon and ice cream.
discovering the world at our feet at Somerset House with friends.
choosing cakes for playdates at Chriskitch Café.
biscuit decorating with sprinkles and rose petals at a Valentine’s playdate.
thawing out with hot coffee and a Lotus Biscoff Crodough at Rinkoff’s after a chilly time at Spitalfields City Farm.
Out and about in winter —
Soul stuff.
Seasonal cues act as prompts for my own creative unfolding. In winter a silent softness sits side by side with the bleak conditions giving us permission to live more quietly — there is a depth of beauty that lies in the dark. When things are stripped back and stark, there is more space to see.
the Omen Days provided a gentle bridge over the threshold of the new year — the ritual’s beauty lies in the daily reminder of just how much wonder exists in our everyday lives, even in the depths of winter.
an oracle spread for the year with The Green Witch’s Oracle Deck, inspired by liz | wsc created a soft yet expansive overview of the year with an idea to ponder and revisit for each month.
drafting words to tell the stories of beautiful brands like Wren Studios, a new Melbourne-based design gallery, featuring a carefully curated collection of iconic midcentury furniture.
conjuring words and ideas destined for a book project.
making sense of myself and my world by writing words to you here…(thank you).
reinstating a long-lost movement practice that feels good in my body.
cacao and oracle cards with my little loves, inspired by
Lauren Barber.
marking five years of mothering with a (solo) walk in the woods (what else?!), followed by coffee and cake in the enchanting cafe in the woods filled with books and draped in fairy lights.
allowing a book to find me.
lighting a candle with beautiful souls to share seasonal love at A Seasonal Salon. creative gathering for winter.
reacquainting with the magic of my blueprint, pathway and energy type via
’s The Foundations of Human Design workshop.exploring wood, the element in Chinese medicine associated with spring, the colour of green, our sense of vision and direction in life led by
in late winter.being a part of a beautiful group of women creating an invitation for all to share their voices, knowledge and joy as part of Siren Songs for International Women’s Day 2025, thank you
. (More details about our free Holding Stories circle to honour IWD 2025 below).
What are your small winter stories? What did winter mean to you?
Thank you so much for reading — I would love to chat more in the comments about your winter, or of course feel free to send me an email with your thoughts, I always love to hear from you.
P.S. You are invited…
Holding Stories circle for International Women’s Day 2025.
I am so excited to co-create a Holding Stories circle with Lauren Barber to mark and honour International Women’s Day on 8th March 2025. Our circle is part of a wider collaboration of creatives, Siren Songs—a call to weave your words of wisdom and wonder, and to share the story on your heart this IWD, you can read more here.
Within the circle we will combine meaningful words with restorative pauses and reflective contemplation, allowing space to uncover our soul songs, and to gather live amongst a community of creative women across the world.
The details
When: 11am - 12pm (GMT), Saturday 8th March 2025.
Where: In your own personal sanctuary via the wonder of Zoom.
Register your free space below…
Gather & Tend. co-working space.
I am delighted to introduce Gather & Tend., a cosy online co-working space, part of The Beauty Thread., the first will be held just before the tipping of the light as we approach the spring equinox.
Within the session, we will find an anchor in the back and forth of early spring, discover seasonal creative cues to set the tone for the weeks and months ahead, and make space for tending to our own projects, individually but together.
The details
When: 10-11.15am (GMT), Wednesday 19th March 2025.
Where: from the comfort of your own home (or anywhere!) via Zoom.
The first session will be open to all subscribers.
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. currently cost £5 per month or £45 per year.
P.S. If you are not yet done with winter, do check out my most recent posts below…
I have planted a number of varieties of Narcissus including ‘Thalia’, ‘Minnow’ and ‘White Petticoat’, a few tulips and some summer snowflake snowdrops, (Leucojum aestivum) which flower later than the traditional snowdrop.
I loved reading your moments out and about in London this winter Lyndsay. Your images and words always capture so much beauty.. thank you for sharing these stories x
Thank you for sharing, I have been deepening my appreciation for the winter months. This was helpful.