Scarf In The Woods Sleep Story

Fall asleep to the this soothing sleep story about a dream, a scarf, and a walk in the woods. It's an immersive blend of crafting and being in nature, with relaxing ambient sounds and a mini meditation at the beginning to get you relaxed.

Transcript

I want you to get into a comfortable position and take a few deep slow breaths. Rest your tired bones and let your muscles relax. This is the scarf in the woods. There's something so magical about crafting something out of nothing. Maybe if you're also a crafter, You know what I mean. And it doesn't matter what kind of crafts you like to do, They all spark something wonderful as you create. It's not usually the end result that's the most rewarding, At least not to me. It's the process, Watching step by step how your finished item comes together. I think there's a part of the creator in every piece in the way that with every brushstroke if you're a painter, Or every stitch if you sew, Contains the emotions you were feeling when you made it. And your thoughts and your intentions. Somehow I think that way of thinking is tied to the dream I had last night. As I was drifting into that place that's between being wide awake and sound asleep, I saw dappled light between leaves, The smell of decaying plants, A smell that's so familiar and they say smell is the most evocative sense, Don't they? And I knew at once I was in the woods. It's only nearby, About a ten minute walk if that, But I haven't been there in quite some time. That was the first unusual part of this half-dream. I never dream of smells. Not one dream can I recall where I remember the fragrance of flowers in a vase, Or the pungent exhausts of trucks driving into the night. The second odd thing is that dreams are only supposed to happen once you've been asleep for a while. I'm sure I was drifting into a half-sleep unless I really had been asleep for a while and I was only dreaming of slumbering for much longer than I really had. That's the other thing with dreams, Isn't it? Once you're no longer fully awake, Time distorts. In this woodland dream, For example, I had no idea how long I'd been staring up through the canopy of leaves, Or drifting through past rough tree trunks and thick bushes. I didn't really know where I was going, Either, But the wind seemed to nudge me gently in the right direction, Wherever that was supposed to be. I couldn't tell you what was in front of me, For even though the sunlight mottled a beautiful pattern on my face, Arms, And the ground directly before me, Out in front was dark like a loaded brush of ink swelled in a jar of water. The next moment the breeze filled my ears, But it had a voice. It was a warm, Welcoming sound, And felt oddly familiar, Although even now I can't place it. And that voice had a message. Make a scarf, Take the woodland par. I woke gently, Feeling better rested than I have in quite some time. Now over my morning coffee, With the roasted scent twirling in the steam rising from my mug, I decide to spend my day selecting the perfect yarn for a warm, Cosy scarf. I don't need to be anywhere other than here, So I have no need to dress in anything but my most cosy, Comfy clothes. Today, That's my favourite chunky grey jumper, Jeans, And fluffy socks. I'm a serial crafter, But by far my biggest stash of supplies is my yarn collection. Pulling open the heavy oak drawers to my rustic craft cabinet, I set my eyes on one of the best, Most comforting sights in my books. Yarns of all hues and textures, Stacked neatly next to each other, Big plush skeins of thickest alpaca wool, And tiny odds and ends of leftover cotton. Speckled yarns, Tweeds and faux fur, From the darkest jewel tones to pastels like candy floss, Running my fingers over the tops of the bundles of wools, Cottons and acrylics. I feel their textures change from rough to fluffy, Feathery to tightly spun. Some have never even left their little paper sleeves. The mingling smells of sheep's fleece and clean linen transport me to the hushed aisles of my favourite craft shop, And I consider myself so lucky to have a slice of that comfort at home. Right in the corner, I spy a generous bundle of thick, Soft yarn the colour of beech leaves. Grabbing it with both hands, I know this is what I'll use to make my scarf today. Heading to the living room with my case full of crochet supplies and another hot cup of coffee, I get to work. I opt to make up my own scarf pattern today. Sometimes it's therapeutic to just go with the flow. Make up the pattern as I feel, And just see what the end result looks and feels like. Crumble jumps up next to me and circles a couple of times before settling down in his favourite spot. I find the tail end of the yarn, Give it a gentle tug, Knot the end and give myself enough yarn to begin working. Taking a thick metal hook, I carefully loop the yarn around the hooked end and begin the magical process of producing my scarf. Finding the correct tension is an important part of crochet, But it becomes second nature after several projects. Learning how to hold your fingers just so, And placing the yarn taut while you work with the hook, Is a simple act that focuses your mind unconsciously. As I form the first row of stitches, My hands find the familiar rhythm of balancing the thread, Pulling yarn from the skein, And weaving it around my hook as I pull yarn over, Loop the head of the hook through the little hoops, And create a piece of thick fabric that grows with every stitch I place. I continue pushing the hook through, Looping the yarn and pulling back to create a new coil, Over and over, Like meditating, Not rushing, Not deliberating longer than needed. I weave for a while, Holding the thin strand of loops up in front of me when I feel the scarf is about the right width, Taking a gulp of coffee before it gets cold and readjusting the yarn in my supporting hand. I begin the long process of creating my scarf's length. It takes me a couple of hours of work, Back and forth, Building row after row of simple stitches, So my scarf begins to take shape, Humming a tune to myself here and there, Crocheting this little project feels like a dose of feel-good medicine that I didn't realise I needed. Watching the repeating pattern appear gradually with every row of stitches, Feeling the slightly rough texture of fibres in the thread between my fingertips. Slowly I feel my muscles loosen, The tension in my shoulders ease, And my heart slow right down. I consider how fortunate I am to hear the gentle patter of rain on the window now, Accompanying the slow, Low purr of crumble as my yarn hypnotises him through his half-open eyes. Every now and then, I stand up to hold out my scarf in front of me, Checking the length and deciding to go for a few rows longer each time, Until I'm finally satisfied. By the time it's long enough to wrap around my neck twice with plenty of excess, It's sunny outside again, The golden glow through the window filters through the chunky, Lacy pattern of my new garment, Reminding me of the speckled sunlight through the dream leaves of the woods last night. The hours slipped by quickly, But the effect of this creative therapy leaves me relaxed, Serene and more grateful than ever to have those woods so close to home. I can't wait to venture out today to experience the nip of the country air. Before I go anywhere though, I need to weave in the ends of my new scarf to fully finish what I started. I take the long tail ends of the beginning and ends of my scarf, Slip them through a thick needle and weave them meticulously, Back and forth a couple of times into the finished piece, Then snip the leftovers, You'd never know they were there. Folding the scarf into thirds, I run my hands over the finished fabric, It's reassuringly thick and soft. To the woods, I think to myself, And go and pull on my walking boots and parka over my jumper. I fill up a bottle of water for the short trip and tuck the scarf under my arm for now. In the comfort of home, I'm warm, But the cool crisp air will soon creep under my clothes and around my neck once I venture out. I crunch down the muddy track towards the woods. This area is a mixture of working farmland carved up by public footpaths and woodland to explore. Beyond that, If you look carefully enough, You can see where the river meets the sea. Boats dotted along the horizon with their colourful sails. Overhead, I see the familiar tunnel under the canopy of trees getting closer. The rustling of leaves getting louder as I approach, It really is feeling rather chilly. So as I continue down the slightly downward sloping path, Underneath the great beech and oak trees, I unfold the scarf from under my arm and wrap it around myself. The soft fabric drapes around my neck as I tuck the ends into the front of my coat. Feeling the velvety texture of the woven yarn against my cheek is so soothing and very warm. A great whoosh of air sweeps through the trees, Coaxing a song from the leaves on the bushes and trees. The boughs creaking a rhythm, It feels like magic. I continue my walk through the woods, The sunlight dappling the ground as it finds its way through the gaps in the foliage overhead. Blue tits and blackbirds chirping to their friends in nearby branches. Birds humming every now and then as they pass me on their way to their next flower. With every crunchy step deeper into the woods, I feel more grounded and more relaxed than I have in weeks, Inhaling the scent of soil and decaying leaves, Exhaling stress and tension. I pass by fallen logs blanketed by ivy and covered with ears of unusual fungi that look like they could be staircases for tiny woodland beings. As if by some will of the woods themselves, A shaft of sunlight beams down through a gap in the trees above, Shining its golden light onto a rustic bench just a little way ahead. I've been this way many times, Yet never spotted a seat before. And it could be new, Installed after the last time I visited, Yet it looks weathered by time and seasons. I haven't been walking for very long, But it does look ever so inviting. Approaching the bench, I see that it's been carved roughly from logs. It still has its bark attached in several places, With noticeable rings in the wood. I slow to a halt and sit down, Noticing that the timber actually appears to be smooth to the touch. The sun still shines from above down onto my face, Warming my cheeks and nose. The scarf I made today has done a wonderful job at keeping the chill breeze from slinking down my neck and into my coat. Sitting back, I shut my eyes for just a few moments. The sun's rays warming my eyelids, As I pull the scarf up to my face and take a deep breath in. The loose memories of last night's dream echo in my mind again. After all, That's the reason I'm here today. Who was that message from? My subconscious? Probably. But clearly, Whoever or whatever it was, Knew exactly what I needed to do today. Simple pleasures are often the best, Aren't they? All I did today was wake up, Make a scarf and go for a walk. In reality, That's not the most exciting day, But being in the moment and expecting nothing more, Made me truly appreciate how wonderful those slow moments can be. Like now, For example, I'm sitting on an old bench, Surrounded by trees, Wildlife and a gentle breeze, Yet it feels like magic. My scarf, Made with love and intention, Protects me from the cold as I absorb all that wonderful natural medicine that the woods have to offer. I'm warm and relaxed and right where I need to be. My eyelids become heavier and the weight of my body sags against the back of the bench as I get more comfortable. Bathed in a gentle glow of sunlight, I settle down amongst nature, Safe in this little clearing, Feeling as though some unknown force is watching over me and I gradually drift off to sleep.