Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down (a sleep story), if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a racing mind
The last hour of a fire, when it stops being a fire and becomes warmth.
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
Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again.
If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let the room get slightly further away.
Softer. Slower. Sleep.
Choosing this over scrolling counts as a good decision, even a small one.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.