There’s a solar eclipse on Wednesday.
I’ve always found eclipses fascinating. They feel like a pause. Not an ending exactly, but a moment where everything seems to hold its breath before moving forward again. Whether you believe in the symbolism or simply enjoy the spectacle, they invite us to stop for a moment and ask ourselves what's changing, what we're ready to leave behind and what we'd like to welcome in.
Perhaps that's why, despite the fact that it's still gloriously hot outside, I've found my thoughts drifting towards autumn.
There's something about this point in the year that always makes me feel reflective.
At the beginning of August we passed Lammas, the old harvest festival that traditionally marks the first harvest. Although we're often still enjoying some of the warmest days of the year, it's a gentle reminder that the wheel of the seasons has already begun to turn. The evenings slowly shorten, blackberries appear in the hedgerows, gardens become heavy with fruit and vegetables and, almost without noticing, our thoughts begin to drift towards the next season.
Perhaps that's why tomorrow's eclipse feels so timely. Both seem to invite us to pause, take stock of where we are and think about what we'd like to carry with us into the months ahead.
The garden is still buzzing with bees, the dog is still searching for every patch of shade on our walks, and I'm certainly not reaching for wool jumpers just yet. But somewhere in the back of my mind I'm already imagining those first cool mornings when you step outside and notice the air has changed. The light becomes softer, the evenings draw in just a little earlier and suddenly a cup of coffee tastes even better wrapped in both hands.
I love every season for different reasons, but there is something about autumn that always feels like coming home.
Maybe it's because, for those of us who sew, autumn brings possibility.
Summer sewing is lovely, of course. Easy linen tops, floaty dresses and simple pieces that come together quickly. But autumn? Autumn is when the layers begin. Jackets, shirts, waistcoats, beautifully fitting trousers, cosy dresses and textured fabrics that make you want to stroke every bolt in the fabric shop.
It's the season that makes me want to plan.
Not because I think we need huge capsule wardrobes or endless shopping lists - quite the opposite. I love the challenge of creating a wardrobe from a handful of carefully considered pieces that all earn their place. Clothes that work hard, mix effortlessly and genuinely reflect who we are.
It's one of the reasons I love teaching our year-long Diploma so much.
Over the course of the year, I watch students go from thinking about individual projects to thinking about their wardrobe as a whole. Instead of asking, "What shall I make next?" they begin asking much more interesting questions.
- What am I missing?
- What do I reach for every week?
- Which jacket will work with everything else I've already made?
- What shape of trousers makes me feel amazing?
Those are the questions that transform the way we sew.
It stops being about making more clothes and becomes about making better choices.
I think that's why our next Diploma, which doesn't begin until next year, already has a waiting list. More and more people seem to be looking for something deeper than simply learning techniques. They want to understand their own style, make clothes they'll treasure for years and build a wardrobe that feels completely their own.
And perhaps autumn is the perfect time to begin doing exactly that.
As I've become older, I've become much more interested in making clothes that belong to me rather than chasing what everyone else seems to be wearing.
That's one of the great gifts sewing gives us.
We don't have to wait for someone else to decide what's available in the shops.
We get to choose. We get to notice. We get to create.
Perhaps that's another reason tomorrow's eclipse feels significant. Eclipses have a way of reminding us to pay attention. They interrupt the ordinary rhythm of things for just long enough that we notice where we are.
I've been asking myself some gentle questions over the past few days.
What do I actually want to wear this autumn?
Not what I think I should make or what would look good on Instagram. Definitely not what everyone else is sewing.
But what would genuinely make me feel comfortable, confident and like myself?
The answers are surprisingly simple.
Soft denim.
Washed linen that layers beautifully.
Fine corduroy.
A beautifully fitting pair of trousers.
Shirts that can be worn open over a T-shirt or buttoned up with a favourite scarf.
Perhaps a quilted jacket.
And maybe, just maybe, something with a little bit of smocking...
Because although I adore making statement garments, it's often the everyday pieces that become the most treasured. The ones that quietly work hard in the wardrobe. The ones that are reached for without thinking.
Those are the clothes worth making.
I also find myself thinking less about quantity these days and much more about the process itself.
There was a time when I measured success by how many garments I completed. Now I'm much happier spending an afternoon tracing a pattern, making a toile or simply playing with fabric combinations.
The making itself has become the reward. Perhaps that's something the changing seasons teach us too. Nature never rushes. The trees don't panic because they're not quite ready to drop their leaves. The hedgerows don't compare themselves to one another.
Everything unfolds exactly when it's supposed to and there's a lesson in that for all of us. Especially if, like me, you have a tendency to keep adding ideas to the list before you've quite finished the last one.
So as autumn approaches, I'm trying to resist the temptation to make everything. Instead, I'd rather make a few pieces really well. Pieces I'll still love wearing in five years' time. Pieces that tell a story. Pieces that remind me not only of the fabric they were made from but also of where I was in life when I stitched them together.
That's the beautiful thing about handmade clothes. They become woven with memories. You remember the audiobook you listened to while sewing the sleeves or the holiday where you first wore the dress. The friend who admired the jacket. Even the afternoon the dog fell asleep under the sewing table while you finished the hem.
Those memories become part of the garment forever.
Perhaps that's what tomorrow's eclipse is really reminding me. Not that everything has to change overnight, but that every new season offers us the chance to make more intentional choices. To let go of the things that no longer fit us - literally and figuratively - and to create space for what comes next.
So before we race headlong into another season, perhaps take a quiet hour this week to pull a few favourite handmade garments from your wardrobe.
Lay them on the bed.
Look at them properly.
Ask yourself what they have in common.
What fabrics do you keep returning to?
What colours make you smile?
Which garments make you stand a little taller when you put them on?
Those answers are far more valuable than any trend forecast.
As for me, I think I'll spend the next few evenings with a notebook, a cup of coffee and a stack of patterns, dreaming about crisp walks, crunchy leaves underfoot and a wardrobe filled with clothes that feel unmistakably mine.
The weather may still be insisting it's high summer. But quietly, almost imperceptibly, the seasons are beginning to turn.
Perhaps it's time we allowed ourselves to turn with them too. 🍁
Jules x