Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - Footprints in the Snow (Premium)

Episode Date: December 19, 2019

This is a preview episode. Get the full episode, and many more, ad free, on our supporter's feed: https://getsleepy.com/support. Footprints in the Snow  Narrated by Abbe Opher. Relax in the scenic surroundings of the arctic.     About Get Sleepy Premium: Help support the podcast, and get: Monday and Wednesday night episodes (with zero ads) The exclusive Thursday night bonus episode Access to the entire back catalog (also ad-free) Premium sleep meditations, extra-long episodes and more! We'll love you forever. ❤️ Get a 7 day free trial, and join the Get Sleepy community here https://getsleepy.com/support. And thank you so, so much.  Tom, and the team. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi, Thomas here. You're listening to a preview episode. You can enjoy the entire story tonight by subscribing to our supporters' feed. There you'll get access to the entire back catalogue, bonus episodes, and more, and it's all completely ad-free. Click the link below to learn more. And thank you so so much. Me and the team really appreciate your support. Mary stands on the edge of the shore looking out. It's quiet, there are no footsteps, no people nearby. Before her lies a great white expanse. It's the ocean. But it's not the rollicking blue of a Caribbean sea, nor the stony flat grey of the Atlantic

coast. It's the frozen sea of the polar north. The first frost gently still does rolling waves to soft, thin curls of minty blue ice. Here, it can freeze without snow. That's why the first snow is a magical time for the people who live here. It happened a few weeks ago, Mary remembers. She woke up one morning to find her window pane dusted with fresh powder. That day large heavy flakes drifted down from thick clouds in the slate grey sky. People pulled their sleds out of storage, they strapped long skis to their feet.

They put away their sneakers and brought out their snowmobiles for travelling long distances across the frozen sea. Now, the bright blue ice is mostly covered in a blanket of snow, but bits of it peeked through. A subtle glinting catches Mary's eye. She scans the surface, trying to find the spot that flickered in the gentle light. She sees it, just feet away from her. A small patch of ice stands out, slick and shining. Mary looks closer. She can see a single cloud reflected on its surface, sky and ground become one. For some it can be hard to tell where land ends and sea begins. They blend together so perfectly in this vast snow-scape.

But Mary can see the fine line that separates the two. She grew up wondering this coastline. She knows the ups and downs of the winter landscape. She knows the crackling sound of the water returning in spring. She knows the ebb and flow of the tides in the summer. Now, in fall, she knows the path to take to follow the long winding shore. Mary turns the shore to her right and starts to walk. The snow crunches beneath her boots with every footfall.

She walks rhythmically, foot up, foot down, letting her foot steps fall in line with her heartbeat. Step, crunch, step. letting her footsteps fall in line with her heartbeat. Step. Crunch. Step. Crunch. She feels the slight tingle of the frosty air on her cheeks as she walks. But despite the chill, she's toasty warm.

Her Parker is thick and not too snug. The warmth flows down her chest and out to the tips of her fingers and down into her feet. Her toes are cozy and fuzzy winter boots. She feels safe here as she walks. Mary looks out ahead of her. The world is framed in a gentle oval of her park as hood. She sees something out of the corner of her eye that makes her pause.

She turns slowly. To her left, away from the coast, there's the remnants of an old wooden boat, overturned on the snow. White lines of frost outline each plank where the dark wooden frame has begun to separate. She looks the boat up and down from bow to stern. In May have held one, two, three, four, maybe five people in its day. Now it's probably home to some small creature in the summer months, she thinks. Her gentle rustling, like the slip of a pillow into a pillowcase, stirs the air above her. A large, white, snowy owl, with honey-brown eyes, lands on the dark brown wood. Mary watches as it stretches its great wings, its feathers shuffling into place as it brings them back down to rest at its sides.

It sits, waits and is her. Mary wonders if anything has ever been so perfect, not a feather out of place. The owl holds her gaze, then it turns and looks down at the ground. Mary follows its line of sight just behind the boat. At first she doesn't see anything but snow. Then, as her eyes adjust to the subtle pallet, she sees a footprint. Not just one, two. Just one, two.