Sleep story · warm, home
Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, if you have five quiet minutes — for winding down
One small light on, a cooling cup of tea, and the rest of the house dark.
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
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Your chest can be still now. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.
Feel your cheeks let go. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The words can start to blur now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
They will find their own way out. Stay. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Just the breath. Almost nothing to do now. Let them.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train, before something difficult — for waking too early, A caravan by the sea, when you are not sure this will work — for a night when you do not want to think or A lake before dawn (a sleep story), after a long day — for an overtired night.