Night Stories #1:

Our beds wait for us, ready to wrap up us up in warmth and comfort. A place to rest when all the world’s weariness and wanting gets to be just a bit too much.

Night Stories #6:

The birds sing me slow songs when I’m tired. Long low coos that bring me closer to when I can finally close my eyes. The birds encourage me to relax, to breathe. My pillow waits for me like a calling. The bird’s nest on the nightstand by my bed holds three blue eggs waiting for morning. Like the birds, I only seek to go home. To rest. To find peace.

Night Stories #10:

In the center of the forest, your respite is ready. One with the woods, the bed can no longer be separated from the moss that grows underneath. The pristine white sheets promise to sooth your weary bones. To sing your soul’s song. After days of feeling lost, in this bed you will be found. The woodland creatures say it will be so.

Night Stories #14:

Everything is moving a bit more slowly now. The bed waits patiently, never minding how long I take to finally arrive. Long shadows slowly move across time, bending across the horizon. Never again will this day come. This is not something my bed concerns itself with.

Night Stories #18:

Curving through the air, the flowers speak in whispers. Slowly I open to the possibility that they know the way forward. But with sleep offering a sweet pause, I decide that it’s ok not to know which way to go.

Night Stories #22:

Slowly, my eyes lose focus. The weight of unfinished thoughts cloud my head, and my tired body wrestles with my chaotic mind. Waiting is my bed, ready to accept whatever it is I bring. Still and calm, it promises to put everything to rest. And it would succeed. If only I could get there.

Night Stories #26:

Our frailty seems closer in the dark. The sheets feel like armor against shadows that are just too good at finding weakness. If I close my eyes, maybe darkness will look for somewhere else to call home.

Night stories #30:

Time spreads out like an ocean in front of me. Weightless, I float along on my bed, bound for distant shores. I’m not quite sure how I’ll get there, but the next point in my journey will only be reached after sleep has its way.

Night Stories #34:

I smell the earth still on my skin. Today’s work fueled me like a furnace, evident in my red cheeks, my scattered notes of inspiration. Sleep is coming, the kind that that wraps you in satisfied, satiated warmth. My bed will prepare the engine to start again tomorrow.

Night Stories #3:

The lightness that I seek is whispered as a promise from my bed. Nighttime is where I’ll find the things I’ve lost.

Night Stories #7:

The forest’s magic touches the screens of the night porch where my bed awaits. The moonlight glints off the fairy dust that was left behind. Lethargic breezes softly shift the white curtains, beckoning me home. The bed softly calls it’s siren song, the pillow waiting to caress my head, heavier by the moment.

Night Stories #11:

The lingering feeling of possibility gently lights the path to my bed. Energy reaches from the stars outside, signalling that yes, dreams will revisit you again. That darkness isn’t the only thing outside these walls. Inside these walls, wisps of gratitude and grace circulate in the air, looking for a place to settle. All that’s left to do is lay your head on the pillow that awaits, soft and warm, whispering that a new tomorrow will come.

Night Stories #15:

Softly weightless air surrounds me. Forever patient, the bed becomes home. Drifting softly down, I finally feel peace.

Night Stories #19:

Some nights are made for ideas, not for sleep. Your bed only knows that eventually, the body will seek a soft place to rest. And it will be ready.

Night Stories #23:

Soft light calls to me with the understanding that every minute brings me closer to home. Like a humble raft, my bed will take me there.

Night Stories #27:

A sliver of moonlight shows the way to sleep. The stillness is almost uncomfortable. But in the light there is a whisper of something different to come. I am willing myself to listen.

Night stories #31:

My brain is moving too quickly to heed the call of my bed. I fear the softness found there will slow down my momentum. But I know I need rest or tomorrow’s daylight will not be kind.

Night Stories #35:

Heat rises in the air and weighs down my expectations. I want sleep to come, but I’m not settled enough to catch the wings that promise escape. I remain just a little too hot. A little too uncertain if I’m ready for the flight.

Night Stories #4:

My bed waits beneath the window, moonlight shining through the panes. The pink curtains softly blow from the promise of blissful sleep. A firefly watches just outside the window, flying between the purple coneflowers that promise healing.

Night Stories #8:

Sleep begins to wash over me. I toss my hair band to the floor, place the book to the side. I curl up, knees tucked to my chest and pressing against me like an embrace that reminds me that I, too, am loved.

Night Stories #12:

The book is finished now. It held me in its thrall for days, breaking the fever of endless dopamine distraction. By my bed the book held a place of honor, a symbol that yes, I am moving forward. Forward through its pages, forward through this life. The book saved me, and my bed with its promise of soothing comfort ensures that the momentum will continue.

Night Stories #16:

Pink moonlight bathes the room in hope. Sleep comes easier when the night air breathes cooling wishes of forgetting. The sheets wait to wrap me in comfort, promising to soothe away the last remnants of debris that haven’t shaken loose.

Night Stories #20:

A comfortable bed is an almost unimaginable indulgence. Truly, when sleep comes, what right do we have to expect such comfort? Yet there it is. My bed awaits like a luxurious gift, more than I could have ever asked for.

Night Stories #24:

The trees create a canopy that covers me. Underneath I find rest, my pillow perfectly fluffed, a deep warmth I have been longing for. Finally I can sleep. Finally I am home.

Night Stories #28:

The air of the day’s work is still fresh in my lungs. The cool chill invigorates my tiredness, making my cozy sheets that much sweeter. My bed promises deep sleep electrified by effort, and I let myself float in its warmth.

Night stories #32:

Wind races through the trees outside my bedroom window. Change is coming, the sounds of the leaves bending to the forces outside scream it. I am ready for the ride into sleep. I am ready for where the wind will take me.

Night Stories #5:

A darkened bedroom, the air heavy with the gradual acceptance that life is different now. More simple. More bare. It’s joyful in its own heartbreaking way. Never again will I look at this room like it’s the place where great dreams are born. It’s now the place that holds me gently, that comforts me, that wishes me nothing but one night’s sound sleep. The painting on the wall is of a single daisy, simple, like my soul now. The window slightly ajar lets the perfume inside from dark blue flowers lingering in the moonlit garden. Sleep is waiting for me here.

Night Stories #9:

White sheets cleanse me of all of the debris of the day. The moments I walked through, the whispers that blew by, the ashes of burning resentments. When the sheets envelope me, it’s a baptism. It’s freedom.

Night Stories #13:

Sleep is on the other side of the undulating ocean. To get to your destination, you will need to swim through the ages of time. It will take you a while, but when you reach your goal, the soft warm sheets will be waiting for you, crumpled by the dreams you had last night. You didn’t make the bed. Why would you when you have an ocean yet to swim through?

Night Stories #17:

Thoughts knock on the door of my consciousness like a fog. I don’t remember the day. Just the dull roar of time passing by. The bed waits like a promise, whispering “Time doesn’t matter, sleep will wash it all away.” I wait for the distraction of lost moments to pass so that I can finally, fully rest.

Night Stories #21:

Rain softly lands on the window pane, reminding me that everything can be washed away. My bed waits to cradle me, to tell me that today was a good day. With each raindrop my mind softens and my heart hums. I am here.

Night Stories #25:

Will I find myself in my dreams tonight? This is the question I ask while I sink into the comfort of my bed. Here, among cotton layers, my purpose waits for me. If only I could capture it with both hands.

Night Stories #29:

Time feels new, refreshed somehow. No longer do I look at my bed and see escape. Now I see preparation for a new day that delivers the very lifeblood of the earth straight into my veins. I see the dawn of possibility.

Night Stories #33:

The tide of time and expectations push forward. Sleep overwhelms me, covering me in salty tears. I am lulled to rest,  eager for new energy.