Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down (a sleep story), when you are doing this for the first time — 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.
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. 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 ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. 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.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the next part go past without you.
Slower. Stay. Let your breathing do the rest.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. You can stop listening properly. Nothing here needs following closely.
If this is your first go, stay with the plainest version of the instructions.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.