Sleep story · winter, still
A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are tired of apps — for a restless night
Everything muffled, everything white, and no tracks but yours.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it. There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time.
The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows.
Let the mattress take all of it. Your chest can be still now.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel your wrists loosen.
The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile. Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the next part go past without you.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the dark.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been on screens all day — for a restless night, A garden in the rain, when you have more time than usual — for the hours after a late shift or Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have tried everything else — for winding down.