Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down, when your attention is scattered — for winding down
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 window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. 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. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel your cheeks let go.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
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.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Stay. You can stop listening properly.
Let the next part go past without you. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Sleep.
Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you are short on time — for jet lag, An attic room (a sleep story), when you are at home and cannot settle — for an overtired night or A boat at anchor (a sleep story), after eating too much — for a restless night.