Sleep story · winter, still
Sleep story: a field under snow, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for jet lag
Everything muffled, everything white, and no tracks but yours.
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
Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists. There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are.
There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time. The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The farmhouse at the top of the hill has one window lit. The snow came down all afternoon and has now stopped, leaving the field completely unmarked.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow. A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Your chest can be still now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Let the room get slightly further away. Nothing here needs following closely. They will find their own way out.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Slower now. You can stop listening properly.
Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a boat at anchor, after a difficult conversation — for a restless night, An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when your attention is scattered — for a night when you do not want to think or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are doing this for the first time — for waking too early.