Sleep story · winter, still
A field under snow, when you are somewhere noisy — 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
There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time. The snow came down all afternoon and has now stopped, leaving the field completely unmarked.
Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists. The farmhouse at the top of the hill has one window lit. The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off. The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows. There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. You can stop listening properly.
Let your breathing do the rest. Leave it there. Let the quiet be boring.
You do not have to count them. Let them. Slower.
Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time (a sleep story), before you go back to something hard — for the hours after a late shift, A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when you are somewhere noisy — for a night when you do not want to think or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are sceptical about all of this — for winding down.