Sleep story: a fire dying down, when the weather has kept you inside — for an overtired night

The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.

Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.

Your chest can be still now. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.

Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

Let it all get further away. Leave it there.

You do not have to count them. Let the room get slightly further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Slower. Just the breath. Stay.

Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.