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 Wittersheim. 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: Let me say a bit about how to use this podcast.
Speaker 1: I have a story to tell you. It's a simple
Speaker 1: story that guides your mind to a place where it
Speaker 1: can rest and shut off. I'll tell the story twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: All you have to do is listen and let yourself
Speaker 1: follow along with the shape of the tail. If you
Speaker 1: wake again later, just think back through any of the
Speaker 1: details you can remember, be back in the story, and
Speaker 1: you'll naturally fall right back to sleep. This is habit
Speaker 1: building behavior, and the more you practice, the sooner sleep
Speaker 1: will find you. So have a little patience. If you're
Speaker 1: new to this, now it's time to tuck yourself in,
Speaker 1: turn off the light, set aside anything you've been looking at,
Speaker 1: stretch down into your sheets and settle your body into
Speaker 1: the most comfortable position that you can find good. You're
Speaker 1: telling your body right now that sleep is right around
Speaker 1: the corner. Let's take a deep breath in through the
Speaker 1: nose and sigh out through the mouth, one more please,
Speaker 1: in and out. Our story tonight is called a cool
Speaker 1: walk and a hot bath. And it's a story about
Speaker 1: those particular days right on the edge of autumn and winter,
Speaker 1: when the wind is changing and there are pleasures to
Speaker 1: be found in being outside and in being in. It's
Speaker 1: also about saying hello to a friend, the joy of
Speaker 1: unwrapping a gift, and watching the seasons change. A cool
Speaker 1: walk and a hot bath. There were still a few
Speaker 1: leaves left on the trees, but not many. I looked
Speaker 1: up from my spot on the gravel path at a
Speaker 1: lingering clump of oak leaves still hanging from a branch,
Speaker 1: held high against the gray sky. They were bright orange,
Speaker 1: and I imagined them holding on and making a pact
Speaker 1: to stay a bit longer, to last a few more days.
Speaker 1: I looked around through the trunks of the trees. Frost
Speaker 1: lingered there, and the rising winds were pushing piles of
Speaker 1: dry brown pine needles and fallen leaves into clumps against
Speaker 1: roots and stumps. I drew a deep breath into my
Speaker 1: lungs and smelled less of the spicy, smoky smell of
Speaker 1: autumn and more of the cool, clean smell of the
Speaker 1: coming winter. Snow was coming, but I smiled up at
Speaker 1: the stubborn leaves. There was still a bit of time.
Speaker 1: I pulled my hat a little lower around my ears
Speaker 1: and turned my face into the wind. It was cool,
Speaker 1: but not sharp, and made me feel awake and wanting
Speaker 1: to walk again. The path turned ahead of me to
Speaker 1: move beside a creek, and I turned with it, watching
Speaker 1: water slip over mossy stones and pool and slow turning
Speaker 1: eddies in the spring. I'd watched fro from this spot
Speaker 1: as they hid in the thick grass of the banks,
Speaker 1: or floated with slow blinking eyes just above the waterline.
Speaker 1: Ahead of me, the creek picked up and spread and
Speaker 1: moved faster. It was crossed by an old bridge, and
Speaker 1: I stopped and leaned over the railing, looking down at
Speaker 1: the water rushing past beneath me. The wind was pushing
Speaker 1: me home now, and I tucked my hands into my
Speaker 1: pockets to warm them. Turning from the park, I walked
Speaker 1: past a school yard where a few kids were kicking
Speaker 1: a ball and calling out shouts of excitement and jokes
Speaker 1: into the chilly air. They laughed and ran, red faces
Speaker 1: cooled in the wind, their jackets in a pile, forgotten,
Speaker 1: and on their way to being lost. The wind blew
Speaker 1: harder and pushed a pile of fallen leaves up against
Speaker 1: a chain link fence, a few stems catching and holding them. There.
Speaker 1: I'm going, I'm going, I told the wind. Turning onto
Speaker 1: my street, I heard the muffled, friendly bark of dogs
Speaker 1: in neighbor's houses, welcoming me back. I saw one nose
Speaker 1: steaming against the window, happily shifting weight from paw to paw,
Speaker 1: and I called out to him and waved, and he
Speaker 1: barked back. A lot of comfort comes from just saying
Speaker 1: to a friend, I see you. I turned to my
Speaker 1: own front porch and spotted a small package propped against
Speaker 1: the front door. I caught it up and smiled down
Speaker 1: at my name on the label, and pushed through the door.
Speaker 1: The warmth and the smell of home wrapped around me
Speaker 1: as I hung up my coat and carried my paper
Speaker 1: wrap treasure to the kitchen table. Inside I found sweet
Speaker 1: smelling soaps and salts for the bath, and a pretty
Speaker 1: bottle of bubble bath. They were tied in ribbons and
Speaker 1: wrapped in tissue. A gift, and the fact that I
Speaker 1: had sent this particular gift to myself made it no
Speaker 1: less sweet. And my timing is perfect. I noted, a
Speaker 1: hot bath is just the thing. My tub was a
Speaker 1: big slipper tub, free standing under a window in my bathroom,
Speaker 1: And as the water ran and began to steam, I
Speaker 1: cracked the window just a bit and let the cool,
Speaker 1: fresh air mix with the steam. I drizzled in the
Speaker 1: bubbles and adjusted the water for the perfect temperature. Baths
Speaker 1: were serious business to me, and planned accordingly. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: had a glass of wine, sometimes a bowl of apple
Speaker 1: slices to munch while I soaked. Sometimes I clipped my
Speaker 1: hair up and painted on a face mask and pretended
Speaker 1: to be one of those people who know what to
Speaker 1: do with all the products that had sat for years
Speaker 1: under my sink. Today I wanted a tall bottle of
Speaker 1: mineral water, a glass full of ice, some music, and
Speaker 1: my book. When my bath was ready, I set out
Speaker 1: a fresh, fluffy towel on the radiator beside the top
Speaker 1: to warm while I soaked and slipped one foot at
Speaker 1: a time into the water. There's always that first rush
Speaker 1: of heat that makes me go still for a few moments.
Speaker 1: It pushes left over thoughts out of my head and
Speaker 1: leaves me with the pure sensory delight afloating and heat.
Speaker 1: Minutes passed. I sipped my fizzy water. I propped my
Speaker 1: heels on the edge of the tub and watched steam
Speaker 1: rise from my skin. I read a few pages. I
Speaker 1: put my book down and listened to the music. I
Speaker 1: slid down into the water and reminded myself of the
Speaker 1: frogs blinking in the creek outside my window. The wind
Speaker 1: was still blowing. Those kids from the park were probably
Speaker 1: coming through their front doors about now, smelling dinner and
Speaker 1: hungry for it. The neighbor's dogs were curled up on
Speaker 1: sofas or looking out of windows, waiting to bark hello.
Speaker 1: We were all tucked into our various nests and ready
Speaker 1: for the winter. Snow was coming a few more weeks
Speaker 1: and would wake up one morning to a white, crystallized landscape.
Speaker 1: I looked forward to a winter of hot, long baths
Speaker 1: and watching the snowfall from inside my cozy nest. I
Speaker 1: leaned my head back to rest against the edge of
Speaker 1: the top and let my eyes close and let the
Speaker 1: heat soothe my system. It was good to be so quiet,
Speaker 1: a cool walk and a hot bath. There were still
Speaker 1: a few leaves left on the trees, but not many.
Speaker 1: I looked up from my spot on the gravel path
Speaker 1: at a lingering clump of oak leaves still hanging from
Speaker 1: a branch, held high against the gray sky. They were
Speaker 1: bright orange, and I imagined them holding on and making
Speaker 1: a pact to stay a bit longer, to last a
Speaker 1: few days more. I looked around through the trunks of
Speaker 1: the trees. Frost lingered there, and the rising winds were
Speaker 1: pushing piles of dry brown pine needles and fallen leaves
Speaker 1: into clumps against roots and stumps. I drew a deep
Speaker 1: breath into my lungs and smelled less of the spicy,
Speaker 1: smoky smell of autumn and more of the cool, clean
Speaker 1: smell of the coming winter. Snow was coming, but I
Speaker 1: smiled up at the stubborn leaves. There was still a
Speaker 1: bit of time. I pulled my hat a little lower
Speaker 1: around my ears and turned my face into the wind.
Speaker 1: It was cool, but not sharp, and made me feel
Speaker 1: awake and wanting to walk again. The path turned ahead
Speaker 1: of me to move beside a creek, and I turned
Speaker 1: with it, watching water slip over mossy stones and pool
Speaker 1: and slow turning eddies in the spring. I had watched
Speaker 1: frogs from this spot as they hid in the thick
Speaker 1: grass of the banks, or floated with slow blinking eyes
Speaker 1: just above the water line. Ahead of me, the creek
Speaker 1: picked up and spread and moved faster. It was crossed
Speaker 1: by an old bridge, and I stopped and leaned over
Speaker 1: the railing, looking down at the water rushing past beneath me.
Speaker 1: The wind was pushing me home now, and I tucked
Speaker 1: my hands into my pockets to warm them. Turning from
Speaker 1: the park, I walked past a school yard where a
Speaker 1: few kids were kicking a ball and falling out shouts
Speaker 1: of excitement and jokes into the chilly air. They laughed
Speaker 1: and ran, red faces cooled in the wind, their jackets
Speaker 1: in a pile forgotten, and on their way to being lost.
Speaker 1: The wind blew harder and pushed a pile of fallen
Speaker 1: leaves up against a chain link fence, a few stems,
Speaker 1: catching and holding them. There. I'm going, I'm going I
Speaker 1: told the wind turning onto my street, I heard the muffled,
Speaker 1: friendly bark of dogs in neighbor's houses, welcoming me back.
Speaker 1: I saw one nose steaming against the window, happily shifting
Speaker 1: weight from paw to paw, and I called out to
Speaker 1: him and waved, and he barked back. A lot of
Speaker 1: comfort comes from just saying to a friend, I see you.
Speaker 1: I turned to my own front porch and spotted a
Speaker 1: small package propped against the front door. I caught it
Speaker 1: up and smiled down at my name on the label.
Speaker 1: Pushed through the door, the warmth and the smell of
Speaker 1: home wrapped around me as I hung up my coat
Speaker 1: and carried my paper wrapped treasure to the kitchen table. Inside,
Speaker 1: I found sweet smelling soaps and salts for the bath,
Speaker 1: and a pretty bottle of bubble bath. They were tied
Speaker 1: in ribs and wrapped in tissue. A gift, and the
Speaker 1: fact that I had sent this particular gift to myself
Speaker 1: made it no less sweet. And my timing is perfect,
Speaker 1: I noted, a hot bath is just the thing. My
Speaker 1: tub was a big slipper tub, free standing under a
Speaker 1: window in my bathroom, and as the water ran and
Speaker 1: began to steam. I cracked the window just a bit
Speaker 1: and let the cool, fresh air mixed with the steam.
Speaker 1: I drizzled in bubbles and adjusted the water for the
Speaker 1: perfect temperature. Baths were serious business to me, and I
Speaker 1: planned accordingly. Sometimes I had a glass of wine, sometimes
Speaker 1: a bowl of apple slices to munch while I soaked.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I clipped my hair up and painted on a
Speaker 1: face mask and pretended to be one of those people
Speaker 1: who know what to do with all the products that
Speaker 1: had sat for years under my sink. To day, I
Speaker 1: wanted a tall bottle of mineral water, a glassful of ice,
Speaker 1: some music, and my book. When my bath was ready,
Speaker 1: I set out a fresh, fluffy towel on the radiator
Speaker 1: beside the tub to warm while I soaked, and slipped
Speaker 1: one foot at a time into the water. There's always
Speaker 1: that first rush of heat that makes me go still
Speaker 1: for a few moments. It pushes left over thoughts out
Speaker 1: of my head and leaves me with the pure sensory
Speaker 1: to light a floating a heat minutes past, I sipped
Speaker 1: my fizzy water, I propped my heels on the edge
Speaker 1: of the tub and watched steam rise from my skin.
Speaker 1: I read a few pages. I put my book down
Speaker 1: and listened to the music. I slid down into the
Speaker 1: water and reminded myself of the frogs blinking in the
Speaker 1: creek outside my window. The wind was still blowing. Those
Speaker 1: kids from the park were probably coming through their front
Speaker 1: doors about now, smelling dinner and hungry for it. The
Speaker 1: neighbor's dogs were curled up on sofas or looking out
Speaker 1: of windows, waiting to bark helow. We were all tucked
Speaker 1: into our various nests and ready for the winter. Snow
Speaker 1: was coming a few more weeks, and we'd wake up
Speaker 1: one morning to a white, crystallized landscape. I looked forward
Speaker 1: to a winter of long, hot baths and watching the
Speaker 1: snow from inside my cozy nest. I leaned my head
Speaker 1: back to rest against the edge of the tub and
Speaker 1: let my eyes close, let the heat soothe my system.
Speaker 1: It was good to be so quiet. Sweet dreams.