Sleep story · winter, still
A field under snow, when the day has been loud — for winding down
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. There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The snow came down all afternoon and has now stopped, leaving the field completely unmarked.
The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows. The farmhouse at the top of the hill has one window lit.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it. The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the next part go past without you.
You do not have to count them. Almost nothing to do now. Just the dark.
For days that were loud from the moment they started.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you want to be left alone — for the hours after a late shift, A field under snow (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for an overtired night or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are too tired to try hard — for a night when you do not want to think.