Sleep story · warm, winter

A fire dying down (a sleep story), if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for waking too early

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.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.

The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange.

If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Let the quiet be boring. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Leave it there.

Choosing this over scrolling counts as a good decision, even a small one.

Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.