Sleep story · winter, still
A field under snow, when you have tried everything else — for a restless night
Everything muffled, everything white, and no tracks but yours.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile. 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 fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are. 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.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Stay. You can stop listening properly.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the quiet be boring. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
This assumes you have already tried the obvious things.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.