Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: All stories are written and read by me, Katherine Nikolay,
Speaker 1: with audio engineering by Bob Wittershine. Thank you for listening
Speaker 1: and for sharing our stories with anyone you know who
Speaker 1: likes relaxation and good sleep. You can also follow us
Speaker 1: on Instagram and Facebook for a bit of extra cosiness.
Speaker 1: Now let me say a bit about how to use
Speaker 1: this podcast. I have a story to tell you. It's
Speaker 1: a simple story, without much action, but full of relaxing detail.
Speaker 1: I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a bit slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. The story is like a landing
Speaker 1: pad for your mind, a soft place for it to
Speaker 1: rest so that it doesn't wander away and get into trouble.
Speaker 1: If you find yourself still awake at the end of
Speaker 1: the first or second telling, don't worry. That's a good
Speaker 1: rule of thumb in general. When you're trying to fall asleep,
Speaker 1: don't worry. Relax. Take your mind back to the beginning
Speaker 1: of the story and walk yourself back through the details
Speaker 1: that you remember, especially any bit that felt particularly cozy.
Speaker 1: You're training your brain and body to wind down, and
Speaker 1: the more often you do it, the faster you will
Speaker 1: fall asleep. So have a bit of patience at the beginning,
Speaker 1: and if you find yourself awake again later in the night,
Speaker 1: use the story again to go right back to sleep.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to turn off the light and set
Speaker 1: aside anything you've been looking at or working on. Settle
Speaker 1: your body deep into your sheets, and take a moment
Speaker 1: to find the most comfortable position you can. We're sending
Speaker 1: a signal to your systems now, and the signal says
Speaker 1: sleep mode. Let's take a slow breath, in through the
Speaker 1: nose and out through the mouth. Good, one more in
Speaker 1: and out. Our story tonight is called The Last Warm Days,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about enjoying the heat of summer
Speaker 1: before the autumn comes to take its place. It's also
Speaker 1: about sheets dried in the sun, the smell of tomato plants,
Speaker 1: and taking time to do as one likes. The Last
Speaker 1: Warm Days everything was in bloom. The grass was thick
Speaker 1: under foot, and the gardens were full of long necked flowers,
Speaker 1: ripe vegetables, and buzzing floating bugs. I'd spent the day
Speaker 1: lazily wandering from a sunny spot at the edge of
Speaker 1: the water, to the quiet of the kitchen, where I'd
Speaker 1: paged through a stack of cook books, folding over the
Speaker 1: corners of recipes I might make one day, And the clean,
Speaker 1: sweet smell of the laundry line out back, where white
Speaker 1: sheets and pillow cases were pegged up and slowly shifting
Speaker 1: in the breeze. Nothing had to be done today, which
Speaker 1: meant that taking on little chores at my own pace
Speaker 1: was happy work. So this morning I'd started in the kitchen,
Speaker 1: setting it to rights, clearing the counters and wiping them
Speaker 1: down till everything felt fresh and clean. Then I little
Speaker 1: candle and slid it into the center of the kitchen table.
Speaker 1: Every time I walked back through the room, I could
Speaker 1: smell it herby and bright, like lavender and green tea.
Speaker 1: I stepped back outside and to an old quilt spread
Speaker 1: out under a few tall trees. It was cool and shady,
Speaker 1: and I flopped down and laid back with my hands
Speaker 1: tucked behind my head. I stretched my legs out long
Speaker 1: and crossed one ankle over the other, looking up at
Speaker 1: the sunlight shifting and flitting through the layers of leaves.
Speaker 1: A bird caught my eye and I watched it glide
Speaker 1: from one branch to another. It hopped and turned and
Speaker 1: called out, then took off again. I turned over on
Speaker 1: to my side and propped my head in my hand,
Speaker 1: and noticed a lady bug climbing a blade of grass
Speaker 1: at the edge of my blanket. I reached out and
Speaker 1: offered her my hand. She seemed to think about it
Speaker 1: a moment, then scuttled on, and I watched her crawl
Speaker 1: across my thumb nail and over the ridge of a knuckle,
Speaker 1: before spreading her shiny spotted wings and flying away. I
Speaker 1: hummed to myself a bit, looking out past the back
Speaker 1: of the house, where the corner of the clothes line
Speaker 1: ran to an old hook that had a few generations
Speaker 1: ago been screwed straight into a tree. I pushed back
Speaker 1: up to my feet and clapped my hands together to
Speaker 1: dust them off. Those sheets were probably dry by now,
Speaker 1: But on my way back to the laundry line, I
Speaker 1: got distracted by the garden. I'd been in the plants
Speaker 1: already a few times to day, cutting some echinasia and
Speaker 1: daisies for the table, and picking raspberries for breakfast and
Speaker 1: a few cucumbers for a sandwich. At lunch, but I
Speaker 1: never really got tired of walking through the rows and
Speaker 1: checking on everyone. I had rows of lettuce that had
Speaker 1: been picked and replanted twice already this summer party, kale
Speaker 1: and cabbage that would last into the fall, snow peas
Speaker 1: and charred, a few promising pumpkins, enough butternut squashes to
Speaker 1: last me through the winter, carrots, cucumbers and zucchini, and
Speaker 1: an absolute of tomato plants. The tomatoes were my favorite.
Speaker 1: I grew lots of varieties and had enough for canning
Speaker 1: and freezing and drying, and plenty for summer eating. I
Speaker 1: ran my hand over the fuzzy green leaf of a
Speaker 1: plant and smelled that heady, viney tang that is the
Speaker 1: smell of summer. I pulled the leaf up to my
Speaker 1: face and breathed it in, then rubbed it across my
Speaker 1: neck and wrists. It was the best summer perfume. I
Speaker 1: stood in the dusty, soft earth and picked tiny ripe
Speaker 1: cherry tomatoes from the vines. I let them burst between
Speaker 1: my teeth, sweet and bright and delicious. I picked a
Speaker 1: few large slicing tomatoes, perfect with just a little sea
Speaker 1: salt and black pepper, then some shaped pink tomatoes, good
Speaker 1: for sauces and salads. Soon I was folding up the
Speaker 1: edge of my shirt to catch the harvest. I kept
Speaker 1: an old ceramic bowl at the back steps for such
Speaker 1: impromptu picking, and carefully set down my catch. I rinsed
Speaker 1: my hands off at the spigot and let them dry
Speaker 1: in the air while I walked out to the line.
Speaker 1: The afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, and in
Speaker 1: the air I could smell a bit of the lavender
Speaker 1: soap i'd wash the sheets in. The sheets were dry,
Speaker 1: and I slowly shook and folded them and laid them
Speaker 1: neatly in my wicker basket. They were my last load
Speaker 1: for the day, so I carried the basket to the
Speaker 1: back door, fetching up the bowl of tomatoes on my
Speaker 1: way in. I set the tomatoes in the sink and
Speaker 1: carried the basket through to the linen closet. The windows
Speaker 1: were open in every of the house, and even on
Speaker 1: a warm day, the breeze kept the rooms cool and comfortable.
Speaker 1: I looked down the hall to the open door of
Speaker 1: my bedroom. I'd done my own bed first that day,
Speaker 1: so my room was tidy and the bed freshly made up.
Speaker 1: I slipped down the hall and into my room and
Speaker 1: took a deep breath of the afternoon air coming through
Speaker 1: the windows. The bed was like a magnet, irresistibly pulling
Speaker 1: me over to rest my cheek against the sun dried coverlet.
Speaker 1: I sprawled my limbs and took up as much space
Speaker 1: as i light. As my eyes closed, my mind flipped
Speaker 1: back through the pages of the day, and I thought
Speaker 1: of my recipe books, of the candy shell, wings of
Speaker 1: the ladybug, the cool water of the backyardspigot on my wrists,
Speaker 1: the sheets folded in their back, and the twisted roots
Speaker 1: of my carrots tucked into the garden soil. The summer
Speaker 1: was nearly over. In a few weeks, the nights would
Speaker 1: come sooner and cooler, the leaves would dry and turn.
Speaker 1: But for now there was still time to linger on
Speaker 1: a warm day and enjoy the last warm days. Everything
Speaker 1: was in bloom. The grass was thick under foot, and
Speaker 1: the gardens were full of long necked flowers, ripe vegetables,
Speaker 1: and buzzing floating bugs. I'd spent the day lazily wandering
Speaker 1: from a sunny spot at the edge of the water
Speaker 1: to the quiet of the kitchen where I'd paged through
Speaker 1: a stack of cookbooks, folding over the corners of recipes
Speaker 1: I might make one day, and the clean, sweet smell
Speaker 1: of the laundry line out back, where white sheets and
Speaker 1: pillow cases were pegged up and slowly shifting in the breeze.
Speaker 1: Nothing had to be done to day, which meant that
Speaker 1: taking on little chores at my own pace was happy work.
Speaker 1: So this morning I'd start in the kitchen, setting it
Speaker 1: to rights, clearing the counters and wiping them down till
Speaker 1: everything felt fresh and clean. Then I lit a candle
Speaker 1: and slid it into the center of the kitchen table.
Speaker 1: Every time I walked back through the room, I could
Speaker 1: smell it herby and bright, like lavender and green tea.
Speaker 1: I stepped back outside to an old quilt spread out
Speaker 1: under a few tall trees. It was cool and shady,
Speaker 1: and I flopped down and laid back with my hands
Speaker 1: tucked behind my head. I stretched my legs out long
Speaker 1: and crossed one ankle over the other, looking up at
Speaker 1: the sunlight shifting and flitting through the layers of leaves.
Speaker 1: A bird caught my eye and I watched it glide
Speaker 1: from one branch to another. It hopped and turned and
Speaker 1: called out, then took off again. I turned over onto
Speaker 1: my side and propped my head in my hand, and
Speaker 1: noticed a ladybug climbing a blade of grass at the
Speaker 1: edge of my blanket. I reached out and offered her
Speaker 1: my hand. She seemed to think about it for a moment,
Speaker 1: then scuttled on, and I watched her crawl across my
Speaker 1: thumb nail and over the ridge of a knuckle, before
Speaker 1: spreading her shiny spotted wings and flying away. I hummed
Speaker 1: to myself a bit, looking out past the back of
Speaker 1: the house, where the corner of the clothes line ran
Speaker 1: to an old hook that had a few generations ago
Speaker 1: been screwed straight into a tree. I pushed back up
Speaker 1: to my feet and clapped my hands together to dust
Speaker 1: them off. Those sheets were probably dry by now. But
Speaker 1: on my way back to the laundry line, I got
Speaker 1: distracted by the garden. I'd been in the plants already
Speaker 1: a few times to day, cutting some echinasia and daisies
Speaker 1: for the table, and picking raspberries for breakfast and a
Speaker 1: few cucumbers for a sandwich at lunch, but I never
Speaker 1: really got tired of walking through the rows and checking
Speaker 1: on everyone. I had rows of lettuce that had been
Speaker 1: picked and replanted twice already this summer, hearty kale and
Speaker 1: cabbage that would last into the fall. Snow peas, and
Speaker 1: charred a few promising pumpkins, enough butternut squashes to last
Speaker 1: me through the winter, carrots, cucumbers, and zucchini. In an
Speaker 1: absolute wealth of tomato plants. The tomatoes were my favorite.
Speaker 1: I grew lots of varieties and had enough for canning
Speaker 1: and freezing and drying, and plenty for summer eating. I
Speaker 1: ran my hand over the fuzzy green leaf of a
Speaker 1: plant and smelled that hetty, viny tang that is the
Speaker 1: smell of summer. I pulled the leaf up to my
Speaker 1: face and breathed it in, then rubbed it across my
Speaker 1: neck and wrists. It was the best summer perfume. I
Speaker 1: stood in the dusty, soft earth and picked tiny ripe
Speaker 1: cherry tomatoes from the vines. I let them burst between
Speaker 1: my teeth, sweet and bright and delicious. I picked a
Speaker 1: few large slicing tomatoes, perfect with just a little sea
Speaker 1: salt and black pepper. Then some heart shaped pink tomatoes,
Speaker 1: good for sauces and salads. Soon I was folding up
Speaker 1: the edge of my shirt to catch my harvest. I
Speaker 1: kept an old ceramic bowl at the back steps for
Speaker 1: such impromptu picking, and carefully sat down my catch. I
Speaker 1: rinsed my hands off at the spigot and let them
Speaker 1: dry in the air while I walked out to the line.
Speaker 1: The afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, and in
Speaker 1: the air I could smell a bit of the lavender
Speaker 1: soap that i'd wash the sheets in. The sheets were dry,
Speaker 1: and I slowly shook and folded them and laid them
Speaker 1: neatly in my wicker basket. They were my last load
Speaker 1: for the day, so I carried the basket to the
Speaker 1: back door, fetching up the bowl of tomatoes on my
Speaker 1: way in. I set the tomatoes in the sink and
Speaker 1: carried the basket through to the linen closet. The windows
Speaker 1: were open in every room of the house, and even
Speaker 1: on a warm day, the breeze kept the rooms comfortable
Speaker 1: and cool. I looked down the hall to the open
Speaker 1: door of my bedroom. I'd done my own bed first
Speaker 1: that day, so my room was tidy and the bed
Speaker 1: was freshly made up. I slipped down the hall and
Speaker 1: into my room and took a deep breath of the
Speaker 1: afternoon air coming through the windows. The bed was like
Speaker 1: a magnet, irresistibly pulling me over to rest my cheek
Speaker 1: against the sun dried coverlet. I sprawled my limbs and
Speaker 1: took up as much space as I liked. As my
Speaker 1: eyes closed, my mind flipped back through the pages of
Speaker 1: the day, and I thought of my recipe books, of
Speaker 1: the candy shell, wings of the ladybug, the cool water
Speaker 1: from the back yard's pigot on my wrists, the sheets
Speaker 1: folded in their basket, and the twisted roots of my
Speaker 1: carrots tucked into the garden soil. The summer was nearly over.
Speaker 1: In a few weeks, the nights would come sooner and cooler,
Speaker 1: the leaves would dry and turn. But for now, there
Speaker 1: was still time to linger on a warm day and
Speaker 1: enjoy sweet dreams.