Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down (a sleep story), when you are doing this for the first time — for a restless night
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
The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again.
The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your chest can be still now.
The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there. Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your breathing do the rest. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let them. They will find their own way out.
Just the dark. Slower now. You do not have to count them.
If this is your first go, stay with the plainest version of the instructions.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the night train, when you are somewhere noisy — for jet lag, A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you have woken up too early — for a night when you do not want to think or A kitchen late at night, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a racing mind.