Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night, after a long day — 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
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. 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. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Just the weight. Slower.
Let it all get further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Just the dark. Let them. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you feel restless rather than tired — for an overtired night, Sleep story: a garden in the rain, when the day has been loud — for a restless night or A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for a night when you do not want to think.