Hear that?
A fire, crackling low.
Tonight, let's sit beside it for a while.
Six minutes.
Maybe you'll fall asleep before the end.
Picture a big, soft armchair.
Pulled close to the fireplace.
The cushions are old and deep.
You sink right into them.
There's a thick blanket over your knees.
Wool, a little scratchy.
Warm from the fire.
Your feet are up on a footstool.
Socks on.
A mug of something warm sits nearby.
Cocoa, maybe.
You've already had enough.
The rest of the room is dark.
Just the glow on the walls.
Moving a little.
Outside, the wind pushes at the window.
It can't get in.
It's Sunday night.
The house has gone quiet.
Everyone else has gone to bed.
You get the fire to yourself.
Let your eyes close.
You can still see the orange light.
Through your eyelids.
Maybe you came in from the cold today.
Or just from a long weekend.
Some of that chill is still with you.
Maybe in your fingers.
Maybe in your toes.
Hold your hands out toward the fire.
Just in your mind.
the Feel heat on your palms.
Slowly reaching the backs of your hands.
Your loosen.
fingers They stop curling in.
The warmth creeps up your wrists.
Into your forearms.
Slow as honey.
Now your feet.
The warmth finds them through your socks.
Your toes spread a little.
The cold drains right out of them.
You don't have to get up.
fire The will keep itself going.
Whatever the weekend held...
whatever tomorrow holds...
it's outside this room.
In here it's just you.
And the fire.
The logs settle with a sigh.
Let your body settle with them.
Watch the flames for a moment.
They rise...
and fall back.
Then rise again.
Let your breath do the same.
The flames take their time.
So can you.
As a flame lifts...
breathe in.
As it settles...
breathe out.
In...
the fire leaning up.
Out...
the fire sinking low.
Again, in...
And out...
slower than before.
With each breath out...
the warmth moves up your body.
From your feet into your shins.
Into your knees.
Your thighs.
Up into your belly.
Soft and warm.
Into your chest.
Your shoulders.
And your face.
Warm, like after a long day outside.
A log shifts.
A few sparks float up the chimney.
You watch them rise and go out.
One by one.
The fire is burning lower now.
Fewer flames.
More glow.
The embers pulse.
Bright...
then dim.
Like the fire is breathing too.
Slower and slower.
The blanket is heavy on your knees.
Your hands are warm in your lap.
Your head tips to one side.
Let it.
The chair holds you.
The way it's held a hundred sleepy nights.
The room smells like wood smoke.
And the wool of the blanket.
Breathing in...
And out...
Only the embers now.
Warm and quiet.
A soft pop from the embers.
Then stillness.
Sleep now.
Goodnight.