Sleep story · winter, still

Sleep story: a field under snow, when you need to stop thinking about work — for the hours after a late shift

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.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow. 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. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time. The snow came down all afternoon and has now stopped, leaving the field completely unmarked.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

The sound of your own boots is the loudest thing for half a mile. There is a gate at the far end of the field, half buried and not going anywhere.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

You can stop listening properly. Just the breath.

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let your breathing do the rest. The words can start to blur now.

Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.

12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.