Sleep story · winter, still
A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, on a day that started badly — for the hours after a late shift
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
Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time. The farmhouse at the top of the hill has one window lit.
There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it. The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Almost nothing to do now. Let your breathing do the rest.
Let the next part go past without you. Slower now. Sleep.
A day that started badly does not have to stay that way.
The end. Sleep well.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down (a sleep story), when you only have a few minutes — for a restless night, A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have five quiet minutes — for a restless night or Sleep story: a bus at night, when you are on your own — for winding down.