Sleep story · winter, still
Sleep story: a field under snow, when you need to stop thinking about work — for winding down
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
The light is flat and grey and does not cast shadows. The farmhouse at the top of the hill has one window lit. The air is so cold it feels dry, and your breath is visible for a long time.
The fence posts are capped with snow and look shorter than they are. There are no footprints anywhere except the ones behind you. The snow on the branches is holding, and every so often a small amount slides off.
Your chest can be still now. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Nothing in this field needs to be done today or tomorrow. Your hands are warm inside your gloves and cold at the wrists.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Slower now.
Let your breathing do the rest. Just the weight. Stay.
Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for winter, still.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have tried everything else — for an overtired night, A lake before dawn, when you are at home and cannot settle — for jet lag or Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you have already had a long week — for waking too early.