Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been on screens all day — for the hours after a late shift
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. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat.
There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
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.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
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 forehead go cool and smooth. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
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.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your wrists loosen.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Let it all get further away. Stay with the weight of your body. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Just the weight. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the next part go past without you.
After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try Rain on the roof, A lake before dawn (a sleep story), after a long day — for an overtired night or A bus at night (a sleep story), before something difficult — for an overtired night.