If you can’t sleep tonight

Read yourself to calm

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Fear nothing, for tonight we sleep

hese words are meaningless as you hear them, and I speak them to you now an a soft voice as the storm outside howls, but we are safe, in here, in this place in my mind that I will weave out of memories and dreaming. Yes, we are here, in this small house surrounded by trees and moonlight, and the walls are thick and you are safe. You are safe and you are in my arms, and nothing else exists but you, me, you, me, and the storm. Hush, now. I’ll cradle you as you close your eyes, warm, wrapped in red blankets as you sink to sleep. Nothing else exists, but you, me, you, me and the storm.

ll tell you what the room looks like. It’s bare, humble, but safe, and the door is bolted and all your worries and the storm rage far from us in the yellow light of this small house. The walls are made of thick hard pine, a foot thick, and the sap is still sweet in the air as you go to sleep, safe in my arms. There is your bed, and a candle, lit, and the fireplace, warm, and all is well as I hold you and you fall asleep in the cabin in the storm. Where are we, in this great wild dream land, where you can observe from the window but never fear? You are too tired to choose. I will. There are miles and miles of trees and dense wood, that at twilight is lit indigo against the grey skies and the brown birds flutter safe to their high nests, high from the wolves and bears below. We walk there in the autumn, and all is calm but the lick of the leaves on the ground and the bonfire split of an ember in a log, burning with rich white smoke against the vermillion canopy. And all is well, but now we shall sleep as the storm has come to wash away yesterday, great and dark blue and weeping into the lap of the woods. Her cloak is struck with seams of lightening and she is beautiful as she clouds us, but no threat as she clears away the rough branches and needles that once scraped at our feet. No, we watch, as your eyes close, and you sleep. Nothing exists, but you, me, you me and the storm.

atch the wind in the trees, my love, watch it and know it cannot enter here. This is our room, our world, and we observe, we don’t suffer. Outside the birds are warm in their nests and they watch as we do, as do the bears from the caves, for no one is out of their homes tonight. We just watch, watch the storm, as she does what she always has done and always will. And all is well as the fire flickers warm, heating the kettle of water for tomorrow’s coffee, and raising tomorrow’s bread, so that we may eat and stare out at the great white skies scrubbed clean tonight. And all is well. And now you can sleep. Just you, me, and the storm. Nothing else exists, but you, me, you, me, and the storm.

Written by

24 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own. Usually. madelaine@madelainehanson.co.uk

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