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: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I read and write all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. Now is a particularly good time to follow
Speaker 1: us on Instagram and Facebook and Twitter. We're going to
Speaker 1: be running a sweet little contest, and if you win,
Speaker 1: you might find yourself and some of your favorite cozy
Speaker 1: things in an upcoming episode of the podcast. A beautiful
Speaker 1: book of our bedtime stories is coming out all over
Speaker 1: the world in a few months, and in fact it's
Speaker 1: already out and available for sale in Germany. It will
Speaker 1: have many of your favorite stories, along with sixteen news
Speaker 1: stories that will only ever appear in the book. To
Speaker 1: learn more or to pre order your copy, go to
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens dot com. Now, let me say something
Speaker 1: about how this podcast works. Busy minds need a place
Speaker 1: to rest, and if they don't get it, they can
Speaker 1: run wild and race all night. The story I'm about
Speaker 1: to tell you is that resting spot. I'll tell the
Speaker 1: story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower second
Speaker 1: time through. As you listen. Use the sound of my
Speaker 1: voice and the details of the story to build up
Speaker 1: a world you can step into whenever you need relaxation
Speaker 1: and rest. And if you find yourself awake again later
Speaker 1: in the night, you can listen again or just think
Speaker 1: back through any bits of the story that you can remember.
Speaker 1: This interrupts your mind's tendency to click back on and
Speaker 1: will allow you to go right back to sleep. Over time,
Speaker 1: this response will become more automatic, and you will fall
Speaker 1: asleep faster and stay asleep longer than ever before. Now
Speaker 1: it's time to turn off the light and put away
Speaker 1: anything you've been looking at. You've officially looked at a
Speaker 1: screen for the last time today. Slide down into your
Speaker 1: sheets and get as comfortable as you can. You are safe.
Speaker 1: You have done enough for the day. Now it's time
Speaker 1: to rest. Take a deep breath, in through your nose
Speaker 1: and out through your mouth. I can breathe in and
Speaker 1: out good. Our story tonight is called Bonfire, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about an evening on the beach toward the
Speaker 1: end of the summer. It's also about bare feet in
Speaker 1: the sand, kite tails flapping in the air, and the
Speaker 1: subtle signs of a shifting season bonfire. The days were
Speaker 1: just starting to get a bit shorter. I'd noticed it
Speaker 1: first in the mornings, shuffling into the kitchen to set
Speaker 1: the kettle on the stove and finding the dusky darkness
Speaker 1: still flooding the yard through the window, I had heard
Speaker 1: the first movements of chipmunks and birds after a summer
Speaker 1: of them being up well ahead of me by this
Speaker 1: hour of the morning. Dark mornings always remind me of
Speaker 1: the first days back to school in the fall as
Speaker 1: a child. In those years, summer days ran together, and
Speaker 1: weeks might go by without me knowing what day it was.
Speaker 1: Bike rides, beach days, the summer fair in the park,
Speaker 1: sleeping late, and staying awake for fireworks and fireflies. They
Speaker 1: all blended together like drawings in a flip book. But
Speaker 1: when the sun got up later and the mornings were
Speaker 1: dark and cool, it meant it was time for new
Speaker 1: shoes and pencil cames and paper sack lunches made the
Speaker 1: night before with notes tucked in for reading at the
Speaker 1: cafeteria table. Along with the dim mornings, the nights were
Speaker 1: coming a bit sooner, and a few trees, just a
Speaker 1: few up in their highest branches, were drying and changing.
Speaker 1: Did you know trees change from their tops down as
Speaker 1: their growth cycle slows, their crowns being furthest from their
Speaker 1: roots are the first to show the shift. So here
Speaker 1: we were darker mornings, earlier nights, and changing leaves. Autumn
Speaker 1: was beginning, and so it was the perfect time for
Speaker 1: one of the last bonfires of the year. The day
Speaker 1: had had flashes of heat when the clouds cleared and
Speaker 1: the sun beat down, but between those bursts the air
Speaker 1: was cool, and as I circled through the sandy lot
Speaker 1: at the edge of the beach, I was glad I'd
Speaker 1: brought a sweater. I pulled it over my head as
Speaker 1: I stepped out of the car and thought it might
Speaker 1: be the first time in a few months that I'd
Speaker 1: worn anything but t shirts and tank tops. I pushed
Speaker 1: my keys into my back pocket, rolled the cuffs of
Speaker 1: my jeans up a bit, and stepped barefoot into the sand.
Speaker 1: It was cool on the surface, but as my feet
Speaker 1: sank deeper in, I found pockets of warmth left from
Speaker 1: the day. We had planned to meet up around sunset,
Speaker 1: but I'd come a bit early just to walk the
Speaker 1: beach and watch the sky change. There were still a
Speaker 1: few folks sitting out on beach towels, determined to get
Speaker 1: the very last bit of summer sun into their systems,
Speaker 1: though they'd resorted to wrapping spare towels around their shoulders
Speaker 1: and sat close together, their sandy knees touching. I watched
Speaker 1: a couple of kids, clearly unconcerned with the cooling evening air,
Speaker 1: as they ran back into the waves, shouting and laughing.
Speaker 1: A younger brother toddled behind them, carrying a pail with
Speaker 1: a big round son painted on its side, and he
Speaker 1: stopped at the edge of the water and pushed handfuls
Speaker 1: of wet sand into it. He dragged it back up
Speaker 1: the beach to his family's blanket, where he tipped it
Speaker 1: out onto his mother's already buried feet, clapping his small
Speaker 1: hand against the bottom of the pail to empty it.
Speaker 1: His mother patiently let him mound up the sand and
Speaker 1: pat it smooth, and when he sat back to look
Speaker 1: at his work and started to giggle, she laughed with him.
Speaker 1: Further down the beach, I followed a zigzag of paw
Speaker 1: prints from the many dogs that had walked it that day.
Speaker 1: Some were tiny chihuahuas and Yorkies, I guessed, and some
Speaker 1: were huge and trailed down to the water and back
Speaker 1: again and again. I could imagine a retriever watching a
Speaker 1: stick spinning end over end as it was tossed out
Speaker 1: into the water, and the thudding paws racing into the
Speaker 1: waves to fetch it back again. The lowering sun was
Speaker 1: making me squint, and I turned away from it to
Speaker 1: look further down the shore. On long strings that sometimes
Speaker 1: disappeared in the evening air, I saw a fleet of
Speaker 1: floating flying objects. A dragon with a long tail as
Speaker 1: red as the setting sun, a diamond shaped clown fish
Speaker 1: with white stripes edged in black, and a rainbow patterned
Speaker 1: box turning and fluttering in the wind. I hadn't flown
Speaker 1: a kite since I was in grade school, and as
Speaker 1: I watched, I wondered why it seemed an excellent way
Speaker 1: to spend a bit of time. I stood awhile my
Speaker 1: toes in the sand, and my head tilted back to
Speaker 1: watch them. Down on the ground. The breeze was slight,
Speaker 1: but higher up there must have been a good bit
Speaker 1: of wind, and it seemed stronger the higher they rose.
Speaker 1: I was lost in the watching for a while, then
Speaker 1: heard my name called, and turned back in the direction
Speaker 1: I had come. I saw an arm waving in the
Speaker 1: distance and the glowing spark of a just begun fire.
Speaker 1: I waved back and cupped my hand around my mouth
Speaker 1: to call out a greeting. The bonfire was beginning. I
Speaker 1: pushed my feet through the sand step by step, and
Speaker 1: by the time I made it to the circle of
Speaker 1: logs and camp chairs, the fire had caught and the
Speaker 1: wood was crackling. I caught my friends in long hugs.
Speaker 1: Their bodies were warm from the fire, but their cheeks
Speaker 1: cool from the evening air. We turned to watch the
Speaker 1: sun set. As we chatted and caught up. It inched
Speaker 1: its way down the horizon, the surface of the water
Speaker 1: turning red and orange with the reflection. We'd seen it
Speaker 1: a thousand times and would hopefully see it a thousand more,
Speaker 1: But still there was something special about the moment when
Speaker 1: the sun slipped completely out of sight. We held our breath,
Speaker 1: we called out, here it goes, it's going, It's gone,
Speaker 1: and then closed our eyes and watched it replay in
Speaker 1: the after image on our lids. Some one brought a guitar,
Speaker 1: and as twilight settled in, I propped my feet closer
Speaker 1: to the fire, and hummed along to familiar songs, and
Speaker 1: smelled the unmistakable spicy air of the season to come.
Speaker 1: Darker mornings, earlier nights, changing leaves and cool crisp weather.
Speaker 1: I was ready bonfire. The days were just starting to
Speaker 1: get a bit shorter. I'd noticed it first in the mornings,
Speaker 1: shuffling into the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove,
Speaker 1: and finding the dusky darkness still flooding the yard through
Speaker 1: the window. I had heard the first movements of chipmunks
Speaker 1: and birds after a summer of them being up well
Speaker 1: ahead of me by this hour of the morning. Dark
Speaker 1: mornings always remind me of the first days back to
Speaker 1: school in the fall as a child. In those years,
Speaker 1: summer days ran together, and weeks might go by without
Speaker 1: me knowing what day it was. By rides, beach days,
Speaker 1: the summer fair in the park, sleeping late and staying
Speaker 1: awake for fireworks and fireflies. They all blended together like
Speaker 1: drawings in a flip book. But when the sun got
Speaker 1: up later and the mornings were dark and cool, it
Speaker 1: meant it was time for new shoes and pencil cases
Speaker 1: and paper sack lunches made the night before, with notes
Speaker 1: tucked in for reading at the cafeteria table. Along with
Speaker 1: the dim mornings, the nights were coming a bit sooner,
Speaker 1: and a few trees, just a few up in their
Speaker 1: highest branches, were drying and changing. Did you know trees
Speaker 1: change from their tops down as their growth cycle slows,
Speaker 1: their crowns being furthest from their roots are the first
Speaker 1: to show the shift. So here we were darker mornings,
Speaker 1: earlier nights, and changing leaves. Autumn was beginning, and so
Speaker 1: it was the perfect time for one of the last
Speaker 1: bonfires of the year. The day had had flashes of
Speaker 1: heat when the clouds cleared and the sun beat down,
Speaker 1: but between those bursts the air was cool, and as
Speaker 1: I circled through the sandy lot at the edge of
Speaker 1: the beach, I was glad I'd brought a sweater. I
Speaker 1: pulled it over my head as I stepped out of
Speaker 1: the car and thought it might be the first time
Speaker 1: in a few months that I had worn anything but
Speaker 1: t shirts and tops. I pushed my keys into my
Speaker 1: back pocket, rolled the cuffs of my jeans up a bit,
Speaker 1: and stepped barefoot into the sand. It was cool on
Speaker 1: the surface, but as my feet sank deeper in I
Speaker 1: found pockets of warmth from the day. We had planned
Speaker 1: to meet up around sunset, but I'd come a bit
Speaker 1: early just to walk the beach and watched the sky change.
Speaker 1: There were still a few folks sitting out on beach towels,
Speaker 1: determined to get the very last bit of summer sun
Speaker 1: into their systems, though they'd resorted to wrapping spare towels
Speaker 1: around their shoulders and sat close together, their sandy knees touching.
Speaker 1: I watched a couple of kids, clearly unconcerned with the
Speaker 1: cooling evening air, as they ran back into the waves,
Speaker 1: shouting and laughing. My younger brother toddled behind them, carrying
Speaker 1: a pail with a big round sun painted on its side,
Speaker 1: and he stopped at the edge of the water and
Speaker 1: pushed handfuls of wet sand into it. He dragged it
Speaker 1: back up the beach to his family's blanket, where he
Speaker 1: tipped it out onto his mother's already buried feet, clapping
Speaker 1: his small hand against the bottom of the pail to
Speaker 1: empty it. His mother patiently let him mound up the
Speaker 1: sand and pat it smooth, and when he sat back
Speaker 1: to look at his work and started to giggle. She
Speaker 1: laughed with him. Further down the beach, I followed the
Speaker 1: zigzag of paw prints from the many dogs that had
Speaker 1: walked it that day. Some were tiny Chihuahuas and Yorkis,
Speaker 1: I guessed, and some were huge and trailed down to
Speaker 1: the water and back again and again. I could imagine
Speaker 1: a retriever watching a stick spinning end over end as
Speaker 1: it was tossed out into the water, and the thudding
Speaker 1: paws racing into the waves to fetch it back again.
Speaker 1: The lowering sun was making me squint, and I turned
Speaker 1: away from it to look further down the shore. On
Speaker 1: long strings that sometimes disappeared in the evening air, I
Speaker 1: saw a fleet a floating flying objects, a dragon with
Speaker 1: a long tail as red as the setting sun, a
Speaker 1: diamond shaped clown fish with white stripes edged in black,
Speaker 1: and a rainbow patterned box turning and fluttering in the wind.
Speaker 1: I hadn't flown a kite since I was in grade school,
Speaker 1: and as I watched, I wondered why it seemed an
Speaker 1: excellent way to spend a bit of time. I stood
Speaker 1: awhile my toes in the sand, and my head tilted
Speaker 1: back to watch them down on the ground. The breeze
Speaker 1: was slight, but higher up there must have been a
Speaker 1: good bit of wind, and it seemed stronger the higher
Speaker 1: they rose. I was lost in the watching for a while.
Speaker 1: Then her my name called out, and turned back in
Speaker 1: the direction I had come. I saw an arm waving
Speaker 1: in the distance and the glowing spark of a just
Speaker 1: begun fire. I waved back and cupped my hand around
Speaker 1: my mouth to call out a greeting. The bonfire was beginning.
Speaker 1: I pushed my feet through the sand step by step,
Speaker 1: and by the time I made it to the circle
Speaker 1: of logs and camp chairs, the fire had caught and
Speaker 1: the wood was crackling. I caught my friends in long hugs.
Speaker 1: Their bodies were warm from the fire, but their cheeks
Speaker 1: cool from the evening air. We turned to watch the
Speaker 1: sun set. As we chatted and caught up, we watched
Speaker 1: it inch its way down the horizon, the surface of
Speaker 1: the water turning red an orange with a reflection. We'd
Speaker 1: seen it a thousand times and would hopefully see it
Speaker 1: a thousand more, But still there was something special about
Speaker 1: the moment the sun slipped completely out of sight. We
Speaker 1: held our breath. We called out here it goes, it's going,
Speaker 1: it's gone, and then closed our eyes and watched it
Speaker 1: replay in the after image on our lids. Someone brought
Speaker 1: a guitar, and as twilight settled in, I propped my
Speaker 1: feet closer to the fire and hummed along to familiar
Speaker 1: songs and smelled the unmistakable spicy air of the season
Speaker 1: to come, darker mornings, earlier nights, changing leaves, and cool
Speaker 1: crisp weather. I was ready. Sweet Dreams,