It's a clear,
Cold night in the Icelandic countryside.
The sky swept clean by the wind.
Stars scattered bright overhead.
And the first pale threads of green already showing along the horizon.
Fields covered in thick snow.
Along low hills stretch out in every direction with no other lights breaking the dark for miles around.
Sets apart in a quiet clearing.
A large glass domed igloo.
Rises out of the snow.
Is curve shaped glowing softly from within a bed.
And a small bookshelf just visible through the glass.
Tonight's sleep story takes place right there.
As you settle in for the night.
Stepping inside.
And taking in the room.
Warming water at the little cooking station.
Choosing a book from the shelf.
And climbing into bed to watch the northern lights build overhead before drifting off.
Beneath the covers.
My name is Michael.
And I'll be your narrator.
For this relaxing sleep story you push the door open and step inside the cold trailing in with you for only a moment before it gives way to the still,
Gathered warmth of the space above you.
The dome arcs up in a wide curve of dark glass.
Dusted here and there.
With a scatter of stars now that your eyes have had a moment to adjust.
The room holds everything within easy reach.
A wide,
Low bed,
Heaps with blankies.
Sit angled to face straight up through the highest point of the glass.
And along the curved wall opposite.
A narrow counter holds a kettle.
Two mismatched mugs.
And a small shelf of books fixed just above it.
Off to one side a small wood-burning stove sits behind a pane of glass logs already stacked and glowing within.
Giving off a steady warmth that reaches every corner of the room without any smoke escaping into the air Near the door,
A handful of old photographs hang in plain wooden frames.
Faded a little with age.
Showing the dome being constructed years ago.
A bare stretch of field,
A half-built frame of curved wood.
Long before there was any glass or bed or warmth to speak of A small pair of double doors near the photographs leads through to a compact bathroom.
Tucked out of sight so it doesn't interrupt the view.
And beyond that,
Nothing else to the room at all.
Just the bed.
The stove.
The counter.
The shelf of books.
And the wide open sky above beside the photographs.
A small woven rug covers part of the floor.
Soft on the thoughts.
And a low lamp sits on a narrow table nearby.
Its light turned down low enough to leave most of the room lit by the sky itself rather than by anything electric.
You cross the room.
And sit for a moment on the edge of the bed.
Testing the softness of the mattress beneath the layers of blankets and you look straight up through the highest point of the dome above you The glass is cool to the touch when you reach up and rest two fingers against it.
And beyond it the sky sits dark and clear the stars sharper here than anywhere with streetlights nearby.
Low along the curve of the glass,
Near where the dome meets the ground outside.
A faint line of green touches the dark.
Thin and pale enough that you have to look twice to be sure it's really there.
You sit a moment longer letting your eyes adjust fully to the dark the shapes of the hills outside slowly becoming clearer beyond the curve of the glass after a moment.
You get up and cross to the little counter along the curved wall.
Where a kettle sits next to a small stack of mismatched mugs.
And a row of tins holding tea and instant coffee.
A small fridge is tucked underneath the counter.
Humming quietly.
And beside it a single drawer holds spoons.
A tin opener.
And a few other odds and ends left for guests.
A small basket beside the fridge holds a few wrapped biscuits and a jar of honey.
Left out for whoever needs something small before bed.
You fill the kettle from a bottle of water.
That sit ready beside it.
And set it to boil the small blue light on its base clicking on And while you wait,
You glance again at the framed photographs by the door.
The black and white one nearest you showing two figures standing beside the half-built frame tools in hand.
And the ground around them as bare and muddy another shows the dome finished but empty.
No furniture yet.
Sunlight coming through the glass in a way that looks nothing like the dark it holds tonight The kettle takes a while to boil.
So you wander over to the little bookshelf that's fixed to the wall beside the counter tilting your head to read the spines.
As a mix here.
Guidebooks and paperbacks left behind by other guests.
A few worn thin at the corners from years of hands passing them over one book near the end catches your eye.
His cover a faded blue.
With a simple line drawing of mountains across the front and you slide it free and turn it once over in your hands before deciding this will do further along the shelf.
A small tin holds a few loose puzzle pieces.
And a deck of cards missing in his box.
Left behind the way small things always are in places like this Behind you,
The kettle clicks off.
And you pour the water into one of the mugs dropping in a teabag.
And watching the water darken slowly around it we carry the mug and the book back across the room careful not to spill.
And set the mug down on the small shelf.
Built into the frame beside the bed before climbing in properly.
Pulling the blankets up.
And arranging the pillows behind you until you're propped up enough to see clearly through the glass above The blankets are heavier than they look.
And you shift once or twice to find the right position one where your neck doesn't ache from looking up.
But your view of the sky stays clear once you find it.
You've settled there properly.
The mug within easy reach of the little shelf.
And the book propped open against your knee For a while,
There's not much to do but read the room quiet except for the low hum of the heater somewhere beneath the floor the occasional soft settling of a log in the stove on the faint tick of the dome's frame in the cold.
The stove's light moves in small shifts across the underside of the dome above you warm and orange against the darker blue of the sky beyond it you turn the pages slowly glancing up every so often at the sky The thin line of green still setting low along the horizon.
Patient and unhurried.
The mug beside you cools slowly.
Steam rising less and less each time you reach for it and outside beyond the curve of the glass The field sits pale and white under the stars,
Nothing moving anywhere in the dark.
Somewhere far off faint enough that you're not entirely sure you heard it at all Something calls once across the field and falls silent again.
And the quiet settles back in around the dome as completely as before every so often you catch yourself reading the same line twice without noticing your attention drawn upward before you finish the sentence And each time,
They find your place again.
And carry on a little further.
Before it happens once more little by little.
The line of green grows wider.
And you find yourself looking up more than you're reading the sentences on the page starting to blur.
While your attention drifts back to the glass.
Eventually.
You give up on the book entirely.
Setting it face down on the shelf beside the mug and you settle back fully into the pillows.
With nothing left to do but watch.
The room feels smaller now with the book closed.
Or perhaps just quieter.
The whole of your attention narrowed down to the glass above.
And whatever it's about to show you.
You pull the blankets a little higher over your shoulders and let your hands rest still against them.
Nothing left to occupy them now,
But the warmth of the mug within reach.
Above you.
The light has spread out across most of the dome now no longer a single line,
But several folding slowly over one another in shades of green.
Fading into violets at the edges.
It moves without any hurry.
One shape sinking as another rises to take its place filling the whole curve of glass overhead.
Until there's barely any dark sky left between the colour and the stars.
Lying flat on your back with the blankets pulled up to your chin.
The whole sky feels closer.
The glass the only thing between you and all that movement directly above you every few moments.
A new shape rises from behind the far edge of the dome pale at first,
Before deepening into colour.
And you follow each one until it fades and another takes its place.
Some of the shapes reach almost to the far edge of the dome before curling back on themselves.
And others stay low.
Brushing along the line of the hills outside before dissolving into nothing there's no pattern to any of it that you can find just one slow shift after another the whole sky rearranging itself above you.
Without any hurry at all.
You reach for the mug and take a sip.
The tea has gone lukewarm now but it's still good and you keep watching as the colours shift and fold overhead outside.
A thin layer of frost has started to creep in across the very edge of the glass where it meets the ground.
From here.
Tucked into the blanket with the mug warm against your palm.
The cold outside seems like something happening to someone else entirely.
White snow all around you.
While you're cozy in your bed.
By the time the mug is empty.
Tipped back for one last cool mouthful.
The lights above have started to ease.
The brightest curtain of it thinning into a softer haze that drifts rather than moves.
You set the empty mug back on the little shelf beside the bed.
And sink down further into the pillows the blankets settling heavy and warm over you.
The dome above has quieted along with the sky The last of the brightest colour folded away somewhere past the curve of the glass you can still see.
Your eyelids feel heavier than they did even a few minutes ago and you let them stay closed a moment longer each time opening them again just enough to check that the sky is still there still moving.
Still worth watching for one more minute you turn slightly onto your side.
One arm still free of the blankets and watch the last of the colour fade through half closed eyes.
The glass above holding nothing now but a scatter of stars and the faint edge of green still clinging to the horizon.
The stove has burned down to little more than embers.
His glow dim and steady in the corner of your eye.
And the heater hums on quietly beneath the floor.
Your eyes growing heavier with each slow blink until the last of the light outside blurs into something soft and formless.
And the room settles into complete stillness.
Around you.
