Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down, when you are somewhere noisy — 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.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. 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.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your hands be completely still.
Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.
Feel your cheeks let go. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let the quiet be boring. Stay.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let it all get further away. Let the next part go past without you.
Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.