Sleep story · warm, winter
Sleep story: a fire dying down for jet lag
The last hour of a fire, when it stops being a fire and becomes warmth.
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 dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your cheeks let go.
The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.
Your chest can be still now. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. They will find their own way out.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Sleep. Leave it there.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. You can stop listening properly. Nothing here needs following closely.
Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down (a sleep story), The night train (a sleep story), on a day that started badly — for winding down or Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are fitting this around other people — for a racing mind.