Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for jet lag
One small light on, a cooling cup of tea, and the rest of the house dark.
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
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.
There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your chest can be still now.
The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Just the breath. The words can start to blur now.
Let the dark be ordinary. You do not have to count them. Stay.
If you have done this a hundred times, change one small thing tonight.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.