Sleep story · cozy, rain

An attic room, when you only have a few minutes — for the hours after a late shift

Sloping ceiling, rain on the roof a foot above your head.

Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.

The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement.

There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Feel your cheeks let go. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.

Let your hands be completely still. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Almost nothing to do now. Just the weight. They will find their own way out.

Softer. Sleep. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.

A few minutes is the whole requirement.

The end. Sleep well.