Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are cold and want to be warm — for winding down
The last hour of a fire, when it stops being a fire and becomes warmth.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
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. The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it.
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 fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Slower now. Stay.
Let the quiet be boring. Nothing here needs following closely. Almost nothing to do now.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.