A fire dying down, before you go back to something hard — for winding down

The story, in full

The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.

The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.

Let your hands be completely still. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your chest can be still now.

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.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Stay. Just the weight.

Let them. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Just the breath.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Almost nothing to do now. You do not have to count them.

Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.