Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down (a sleep story), when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for a night when you do not want to think
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 dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.
The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Slower. Let the quiet be boring.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
When concentration is gone, work with what is left.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain, when you have just finished work — for a racing mind, Sleep story: the night train, when the house is busy — for waking too early or A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want to be left alone — for waking too early.