A fire dying down, when nothing else has worked today — for a racing mind

The story, in full

The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.

The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.

Your ankles can go loose now. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

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.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.

Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too.

Let your hands be completely still. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Leave it there. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Just the weight. You can stop listening properly. Let the dark be ordinary.

Slower. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let your breathing do the rest.

Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.

Let everything get quiet, including this.

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