Sleep story · warm, winter
Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you are at home and cannot settle — for a racing mind
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 heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let them. Sleep.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let the quiet be boring. Softer.
Let the room get slightly further away. Just the weight. Leave it there.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.