Sleep story · warm, winter
Sleep story: a fire dying down, when the weather has kept you inside — for waking too early
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 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. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.
The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen.
Let your hands be completely still. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
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.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your cheeks let go.
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.
If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
The words can start to blur now. Just the weight.
Nothing here needs following closely. Sleep. Let the dark be ordinary.
Slower. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the room get slightly further away.
Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a garden in the rain, when the day has been loud — for waking too early, A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not sure this will work — for a restless night or A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have more time than usual — for a night when you do not want to think.