Silver Between Seasons

A Reflection on Jewellery, Ritual, and the Turning Year

There is a stillness that comes with the end of October. The air sharpens, leaves collapse softly into the soil, and the light slips lower each afternoon, taking on that half gold, half grey hue that feels like memory itself. The world begins to fold inward. This is the season of preparation and preservation, of tending to what remains and laying to rest what has passed.

In old calendars this was the time of Samhain, when summer’s fire gave way to winter’s quiet. It marked the thinning of the veil between worlds, when the living paused to honour those who came before and to seek guidance in what was still to come. Though our rituals have shifted, something of that rhythm remains. We still feel the change. We still sense the need to gather close, to adorn ourselves not for display but for comfort and connection. Jewellery in this light becomes more than ornament. Metal holds temperature and memory. It warms against the skin, reflecting the season’s pulse. In summer, gold feels like sunlight caught and tamed. As the light fades, silver takes its place, cool yet protective against the wrist or throat. The pieces we wear change almost without our noticing, in conversation with the world outside.

In the studio this month we are drawn to two pieces in particular. A Victorian 18ct gold, ruby and diamond boat ring, its rich rubies glowing like autumn leaves and its old cut diamonds shimmering like early frost, seems made for the turning world. And an Edwardian 9ct gold double sided locket, warm with age and designed to hold flowers, photographs or small keepsakes, feels entirely in place for this moment of stillness. Neither were created for this season, yet both belong to it completely.

These pieces speak to the same impulse that shaped the rituals of Samhain: to remember, to protect, to mark the passage from one state of being to another. To wear something from another time is, in its own way, a ritual of connection. It is an act of listening to history through touch. Each clasp and stone holds a quiet hum of what it has witnessed: hands, hearts, evenings, celebrations and absences. When you fasten a clasp or trace the setting of a gem, you are repeating a gesture that has passed through generations.

Perhaps this is why antique jewellery feels especially alive in autumn. It carries its own patina of stories, softened by time like wood polished by years of hands. There is intimacy in it, the kind that resists fashion and instead moves with the body, settling into the rhythm of whoever wears it next.

At Terrou, the idea of continuity remains central. Restoration and care are not acts of nostalgia but acts of respect. They are conversations between past maker and present custodian. Each piece that passes through our studio is an artefact of time and touch, its surface a quiet record of lives lived beside it.

As the island turns toward winter and the sea grows darker, the light from the windows feels softer and more precious. Jewellery takes on the same quality, a glimmer against the grey, a small defiance of the gathering dark. There is something ancient in the way we continue to adorn ourselves, even in stillness. A ring, a locket, a pair of earrings. Each one a small promise to carry light forward. So perhaps, as the year folds itself toward its quiet end, we can think of jewellery as our modern ritual. A way of remembering, of honouring, of holding something steady as everything else shifts.

Gold for warmth.

Silver for the season between.

Ruby for flame.

Diamond for clarity.

The turning year asks us to notice these details and to slow down and choose with intention. In that choosing we find the quiet continuity of Terrou, the belief that beauty, like the seasons, is always in motion but never truly lost.

Terrou Studio. The Lost. Found.