Hi,
It's Michael,
And welcome to Settling into Sleep.
Your quiet refuge to slip out of the day's noise and drift into nourishing rest.
I'm grateful that you pressed play today.
My hope is that we can help you step away from the noise of the world and gently find your way to sleep.
Over the next few minutes,
I'll guide you with story,
Stillness,
And gentle breath towards the soft edge of dreams.
So,
Wherever you are,
Get comfortable.
Let your shoulders drop.
And take a nice,
Deep,
Slow breath in.
And breathe out.
And let it all settle.
Easing you towards sleep.
I'm your host,
Michael Gellion.
And this is.
.
.
Settling into sleep.
The cabin stands quietly among the snow-draped trees.
Everything feels hush.
Like the world is taking a deep breath.
Holding in its reverence.
Silence is in the air on this gorgeous winter day.
And the only sound is a faint whisper.
Of the wind crackling through the high canopy.
Through the moody gray sky.
Mountains rise in the distance.
Jagged,
Majestic,
Powerful,
Serene.
Framing the forest like ancient guardians.
The trees.
Tall and stately.
Sway slightly in the crisp winter breeze.
Their trunks dusted white and still.
It's as if time slows here.
The air is pure and still.
The kind that makes your breath come out in tiny clouds and makes you instinctively pull your scarf tighter.
The cabin itself is straight out of a movie.
Crafted from beautiful logs that smell faintly of pine.
And honey.
Its steep roof towers high.
And is thick with snow.
Icicles glittering like diamonds along the edges.
And the balcony is wrapped with soft golden fairy lights.
Twinkling in the afternoon dust.
A curl of smoke rises from the stone chimney.
Drifting into the air with the scent of pine cones.
Cinnamon.
And firewood.
Wrapped scent.
The car comes to a halt.
You haven't even stepped a foot outside yet.
And already.
Calm is washing over you.
You open the door.
And are greeted by a gust of winter chill.
Your boots crunch lightly in the snow beneath you as you step out of the car.
The soft laughter of your friends.
The rustle of jackets.
And the quiet awe of the surroundings blend into a melody of joy.
And peace.
There's something about arriving here.
Away from the noise,
The rush.
The endless to-do list.
Something that feels like.
.
.
Coming home.
The snow invites you to play.
A large untouched patch of powdered snow.
Near the tree lines becomes the setting for spontaneous snow angels.
Arms and legs sweeping joyfully as everyone collapses into the snow.
Giggles and shrieks erupt as snowballs fly.
Pants are tugged down and someone.
.
.
Attempts to sculpt a snowman.
That ends up with a leaning head and a crooked smile.
Charming and perfect in its imperfection.
Laughter rings through the forest.
And that goes back.
You take a moment to look at all of your friends.
You're no longer young,
But.
.
.
You're certainly not old.
You've been through life together.
Graduations and first jobs,
Boyfriends,
Girlfriends,
Marriages.
You've seen each other through death of parents.
When kids have been ill.
And even a few divorces.
The warmth of memories over the years.
And the simple beauty of this moment flow over your body.
These really are my people,
You think to yourself.
I am so lucky.
Fingers and noses tingling from the cold.
You all eventually make your way toward the cabin porch.
Dragging suitcases and bags.
Boots are stamped at the door.
Scarves Unwound.
And someone wrestles with the door handle through thick gloves.
And then the cabin's large oak doors swing wide open and bliss.
Firelight flickers across the wooden walls.
There's an amber crackle,
The scent of burning wood mingling with notes of something delicious from the kitchen.
Rosemary.
Garlic.
Maybe a touch of wine simmering in a stew.
Inside.
Coats are peeled off.
Boots are lined by the door.
And everyone moves into the space with a sense of familiarity and ease.
The cabin is cozy but spacious.
With deep couches.
Plush throws.
Fluffy blankets and wide windows looking out at the snowy wonderland beyond.
Someone has put on a soft playlist.
Instrumentals,
Jazz,
Or Maybe old classics.
And the energy settles into that golden hour glow of contentment.
Everyone finds their room and.
.
.
Changes for dinner.
Old sweatsuits and college hoodies thrown on with thick woolen socks for sliding around on the wooden floors downstairs.
In the kitchen.
A pot bubbles gently on the stove.
Someone ladles out rich,
Hearty stew into bowls.
While others pass around thick slices of fresh bread.
Steaming mugs of hot cocoa and mulled wine are placed into waiting hands.
Warm,
Fragrant.
The spice is wrapping around you like an embrace.
There is no rush here.
Everything slows down entirely.
And you feel yourself let go just a bit.
The shoulders drop.
And you breathe easy.
Dinner is eaten around a long wooden table.
Worn smooth from the years of shared meals and memories.
Candles flicker in the center.
Casting soft shadows.
You raise your glass to friendship.
To winter.
To this.
Stories start to flow.
As funny ones.
Nostalgic ones.
Tales that have been told a dozen times but still make it worth the wait.
Everyone laughs.
Time folds in on itself.
You feel the weight of the world melt away with each bite.
Each smile.
Each sip.
After the meal.
The group drifts toward the fire.
Drawn like moths to the comforting light.
Chairs are pulled closer.
Pillows scattered on the floor.
Some curl up under woolen blankets.
Others lean back into beanbag chairs.
Warm and heavy.
With happiness.
A card game starts up.
Followed by a round of charades that ends in belly laughter and playful groans.
And outside.
The snow continues to fall in perfect silence.
Stars begin to peek through the cloud cover.
Their twinkle faint but steady.
Inside.
The fire pops gently.
Someone adds another log.
And the flames surge with a satisfying whoosh.
The lights flicker across faces.
Across walls.
Across memories being made.
And voices begin to quiet.
The games are put away.
One friend softly hums a lullaby from childhood.
Another starts telling a gentle story from long ago.
About love.
Travel,
Or.
.
.
A midnight adventure.
You pull your blanket tighter.
Let your head rest back.
And you breathe in deeply.
The air smells like cedar and chocolate and snow.
It smells like peace.
Some people drift off in their chairs.
Others curl up on the couch.
Or head toward the bedrooms.
Slippers padding softly.
Against the wooden floors.
The wind rustles outside.
A low hush brushing against the window.
The mountains stand still and strong.
The trees swang.
Like they're singing their own lullaby.
And you.
You.
Let go.
You let your breath deepen.
Let your shoulders relax.
Your fingers uncurl.
Your legs soften.
A free muscle.
Every thought.
Every worry begins to drift.
Like snowflakes.
Melting away in the warmth.
Of this perfect winter night.
This place.
This moment.
It's yours.
And as you let yourself fall into sleep.
Who carry with you the scent of pine.
A sound of laughter.
And the glow of a fire.
That will keep burning long into the night.
Tonight.
The world is still.
And you.
Our home.
