Sleep story · winter, still
Sleep story: a field under snow, when you have just finished work — for a restless night
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
There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time. 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. There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel your cheeks let go.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A single crow crosses the field and lands on the fence, then thinks better of it. The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are. Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the mattress take all of it.
They will find their own way out. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower. Let the next part go past without you.
Stay with the weight of your body. Sleep. Just the breath.
The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you want something simple — for winding down, A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have woken up too early — for winding down or An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not in the mood — for the hours after a late shift.