Sleep story · warm, winter
Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you are at home and cannot settle — 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 fire will be out in half an hour and nobody needs to watch it happen. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. 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.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops. Every few minutes a piece of wood falls in on itself with a small collapse of sparks.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
You do not have to count them. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Stay with the weight of your body. Softer.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for winding down, Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, when you feel restless rather than tired — for waking too early or A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when the day has been loud — for winding down.