Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Crows & Candles

Episode Date: October 14, 2024

Our story tonight is called Crows and Candles, and it is the next in this month’s special Halloween episodes. While it isn’t at all a scary story, it is meant to be a bit of balm for those that are grieving, and if that feels too heavy for tonight, that’s understandable, might I recommend The Leaf House from a week and half ago in your queue. Tonight's story is about a walk on a misty day and a place at the bottom of the hill where the gate squeaks when you push it open. It’s also about rosemary and gifts brought by birds, the magic of speaking the names of those we love and a choice to make friends wherever you go. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue. Providing a safe and loving environment to domestic donkeys. donkeyrescue.org  Subscribe for ad-free, bonus and extra long episodes now, as well as ad-free andearly episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for NMH Premium channel on Apple podcast or follow the link below:nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription  Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners:• Eversio Wellness: Chill Now• Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle• Alice Mushrooms Nightcap• Nutrachamps Tart Cherry Gummies• A Brighter Year Mini Coloring Book• NuStrips Sleep Strips• Woolzies Lavender Roll-On Listen to our new show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favoritepodcast app. nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-village  Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation at nothingmuchhappens.com/first-this Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you'll hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. Before we start the show, we are very excited to announce that we have been nominated in the Signal Awards for Best Bedtime Podcast. There is a link in our show notes, and voting is only open until October 17th. So if you'd take a sec to click over there and vote for us, we would so appreciate it. And if we win, I'll cook up something special for all you sleepyheads.

I can't give you the recipe to Chef's Coffee Cake. I've been sworn to secrecy. But I'll think of something, and I'll share it. We give to a different charity each week. And this week we are giving to Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue, providing a safe and loving environment to domestic donkeys. Learn more in our show notes. Thank you for listening and for sharing what we do with others, for leaving a kind review or rating, and of course, for subscribing. Our show is not made by AI. It has to be written, recorded, edited, and published.

And we do it all with our hearts, but we just wouldn't be able to without premium subscribers. If you've been thinking about it, well, this is a great time. For about a dime a day, you get our full catalog of this show and stories from the Village of Nothing Much, ad-free. You also get over 30 bonus stories and our extra-long episodes. Our latest is over nine hours to see you cozily through the night. Subscribe at nothingmuchappens.com or through the link in our show notes. Now, I have a story to tell you. And just by listening, we'll condition you to be a better sleeper. It may take a bit of practice,

but soon you'll fall asleep within minutes and return to sleep in seconds. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, please don't hesitate to turn an episode back on. You'll drift right back off. Our story tonight is called Crows and Candles,

and it is the next in this month's special Halloween episodes. While it isn't at all a scary story, it is meant to be a bit of balm for those who are grieving. And if that feels too heavy for tonight, that's understandable. Might I recommend The Leaf House from a week and a half ago? It's in your queue. Tonight's story is about a walk on a misty day, and a place at the bottom of the hill where the gate squeaks when you push it open. It's also about rosemary and gifts brought by birds,

the magic of speaking the names of those we love, and a choice to make friends wherever you go. Okay, get comfortable, my dears. Tuck yourself in with care. The right pillow in the right spot. Muscles softening and relaxing. Mind getting quieter. The day is done.

And you have done enough in it. It is enough. Now breathe in through your nose. And sigh from your mouth. Once more, inhale, and exhale. Good. Good. Crows and candles.

Last autumn was my first in the circle. And autumn is a very special time of the year for us. Yes, it is when the veil grows thin and our talents shine bright. When we follow the lead of the seasons and retreat a bit, spending more time with our thoughts and preparing for the long, dark winter. But most specially, it is the time we make our plans for caretaking our little village. And here is a secret you might not know about service. Once you start giving to others, you will begin to crave it.

It becomes a gift you want as much for yourself as for them. I dare you to try it. The next time you are out on the street in your own village, look for one or two ways to make things better, kinder, easier, and see how it fills your cup. See how you begin to look for more to do and help with. Because kindness begets kindness. I had a memory of being very young,

five or six, running errands with my mother. And before we went into some shop or market, her whispering to me an idea. Let's make everyone we meet our friend. Her eyes had sparkled as she'd said it, and I'd giggled as I watched her do it. Each clerk and fellow shopper

was won over by her genuine warmth and cordiality. I was thinking of this as I stepped out of my door today. I live in a small apartment in downtown, an old brick building with a flower shop on the ground floor around the corner from the record store. Mist hung over the village as I began to walk so that when I looked up and down Main Street

both ends were shrouded and I imagined us in an autumn snow globe as if the world stopped where the mist stood, and falling snowflakes were replaced with millions of red and orange and yellow leaves. I smiled and pulled my hood over my head to keep out the chill. I had a bit of a walk ahead of me. Last autumn, the circle had been busy. We'd done a few simple spells to keep jack-o'-lanterns burning on Halloween.

We'd relocated a cloud of bats from a busy barn at Weathervane Farm to an abandoned silo out past the state road. And, I was proud to say, we'd worked on a project I'd pioneered to clean gravestones at the cemetery. Some of that was done with magic, cleaning potions and spells to convince vines to grow away from the stones, and some with old-fashioned elbow grease. I'd volunteered to maintain the work we'd done, to keep things clear and dignified for those resting there,

and that was my errand today. I'd refresh the wards that kept away the lichen, graffiti, and litter, and bring some light to the dark corners of the place. And I was hoping I might see some friends while I worked. All of us in the circle have their own kind of skill, and mine is an affinity with animals. When I look back on it, I realize they have sought me out my whole life. Even before that evening, when the moon had shone on me, and I found myself at the Curious Shop,

stepping fully into the circle and who I am. Cats and dogs, birds and crickets, butterflies and horses, all sorts that crawled and swam. They would find me whenever I was near and seemed to be happy and at ease in my company. I certainly was in theirs. And while it isn't exactly like speaking, not like you and I could do with each other. I can talk to them, and they to me.

But just more in knowing how they feel, what they need, what they're looking for or wanting. And if possible, I try to give it to help where I can. The mist moved out in front of me. We were not, in fact, in a snow globe, and the road kept going out past the train station and down a small hill till it came to the iron gate of the cemetery. When I pushed it open, I noticed the gravel underfoot

had been washed into a heap after the rainstorms a while back. And the gate stuck on it. Before, I'd have pushed and stomped and dug with the heel of my shoe to shift it. But now I recognized this was a moment to practice my skills. I looked at the ruts and strata in the ground and brought my hands together in front of me, rubbing them back and forth, and building heat between them as I focused my attention. There are lots of ways to work, but this technique,

which I'd learned from the curious shop owner, worked a treat for me. When my palms were warm and staticky, I stretched them out to the uneven earth and stuck gate and suggested, rather strongly, that they sort themselves out. It started with just a thin train of pebbles and dust, rolling away from the place where the gate was wedged into the gravel. Then it picked up its pace, the ground sifting until the ruts were filled,

and the high spots low and even again. I put my hands on my hips as the dust settled, and listened to the creak of the gate as it swung freely now from its hinges. Done and dusted, I said to myself, and stepped through, heading down the nearest path to check on the wards and spells we'd set. They brought with me in my bag a dozen tea-light candles, a jar of dried rose petals, a bunch of fresh rosemary tied with a string, and a container of large, unsalted cashews. You might think one of those things is not like the others, and you would be right. the first three were for the dearly departed, and the last was why I was the best witch for this particular job.

I started with the candles, setting them strategically on particular graves, people we'd identified as being healers themselves in their time, storytellers, or the ones who, while alive, were the glue that held a family together, the light of many lives, the life of the party. These spirits helped keep our protective spells strong as their own flames fed ours. The rose petals and rosemary sprigs were rolled out around and on top of graves

to spread love and remembrance among those who might feel forgotten. As I lit the candles and spread the petals, I said the names on the graves. This itself is a kind of magic. To say the names of the ones we've lost and remember them. It keeps them with us. Finally, I took the container of cashews from my bag

and opened it in a clearing in the center of the graveyard. When I looked up into the branches above me, I saw that they were suddenly full of crows. I smiled up at them and in my way called to them. Whoever had named them a murder of crows, an unkindness of ravens, well, they weren't able to speak to these lovely birds. I call them a circle, just like our group at the Curious Shop, a circle of guardians who helped me take care of this place. I sat on a stone bench, and the circle sat around me some on my shoulders and knees some at my feet

and we chatted for a bit I brought them their favorite snack and after they'd eaten some returned with small gifts. An old 50-cent piece, a single pearl earring, a small rusted key. I asked them to offer comfort and solace to people who came here, and company to those that stayed under the soil. And they promised to do their best. I tipped the rest of the nuts out onto the bench and rose to go.

As I walked the path back to the gate, I could see the lit candles shining through the mist and smell the rosemary on my hands. Make friends, she'd said. I felt I had. The gate swung smoothly open as I approached. I went through and turned back toward home. Crows and candles.

Last autumn was my first in the circle. An autumn is a very special time of the year for us. Yes, it is when the veil grows thin and our talents shine bright, when we follow the lead of the seasons and retreat a bit, spending more time with our thoughts and preparing for the long, dark winter. But most specially, it is the time we make our plans for caretaking our little village. And here is a secret you might not know about service.

Once you start giving to others, you begin to crave it. It becomes a gift you want as much for yourself as for them. I dare you to try it. The next time you are out on a street in your own village, look for one or two ways to make things better, kinder, easier, and see how it fills your cup. See how you begin to look for more to do and help with. Because kindness begets kindness. I had a memory of being very young, five or six, running errands with my mother. And before we went into some shop or market, her whispering to

me an idea. Let's make everyone we meet our friend. Her eyes had sparkled as she said it, and I giggled as I watched her do it. Each clerk and fellow shopper was won over by her genuine warmth and cordiality. I was thinking of this as I stepped out of my door today. I live in a small apartment in downtown. An old brick building with a flower shop on the ground floor around the corner from the record store.

Mist hung over the village as I began to walk so that when I looked up and down mist hung over the village as I began to walk, so that when I looked up and down the main street, both ends were shrouded, and I imagined us in an autumn snow globe, as if the world stopped where the mist stood, and falling snowflakes were replaced with millions of red and orange and yellow leaves.

I smiled and pulled my hood over my head to keep out the chill I had a bit of a walk ahead of me Last autumn, the circle had been busy We'd done a few simple spells to keep jack-o'-lanterns burning on Halloween. We'd relocated a cloud of bats from a busy barn at Weathervane Farm to an abandoned silo out past the State Road.

And, I was proud to say, we'd worked on a project I'd pioneered, to clean gravestones at the cemetery. Some of that was done with magic, cleaning potions and spells to convince vines to grow away from the stones, and some with old-fashioned elbow grease. I'd volunteered to maintain the work we'd done, to keep things clear and dignified for those resting there, and that was my errand today.

I'd refresh the wards that kept away lichen, graffiti, and litter, and bring some light to the dark corners of the place. And, I was hoping, I might see some friends while I worked. All of us in the circle have their own kind of skill, and mine is an affinity with animals.

When I look back on it, I realize they have sought me out all my life. Even before that evening, when the moon had shone on me and I'd found myself at the Curios shop, stepping fully into the circle on who I am. Cats and dogs, birds and crickets, butterflies and horses, and all sorts that crawled and swam.

They would find me whenever I was near and seemed to be happy and at ease in my company. I certainly was in theirs. And while it isn't exactly like speaking, not like you and I could do, I can talk to them, and they to me. It is more a knowing

how they feel, what they need, what they are looking for or wanting. And if possible, I try to give it to help where I can. The mist moved out in front of me. We were not, in fact, in a snow globe. The road kept going out past the train station

and down a small hill till it came to the iron gate of the cemetery. When I pushed it open, I noticed that the gravel underfoot had been washed into a heap after the rainstorms a while back, and the gate stuck on it. Before, I'd have pushed and stomped, and dug with the heel of my shoe to shift it.

But now, I recognized this was a moment to practice my skills. I looked at the ruts and strata in the ground, brought my hands together in front of me, rubbing them back and forth building heat between them as I focused my attention. There are lots of ways to work but this technique which I'd learned from the curious shop owner, worked a treat for me.

When my palms were warm and staticky, I stretched them out to the uneven earth and stuck gate, and suggested rather strongly that they sort themselves out. It started with just a thin train of pebbles and dust rolling away from the place where the gate was wedged into the gravel. Then it picked up its pace, the ground shifting until the ruts were filled and the high spots low and even again. I put my hands on my hips as the dust settled and listened to the creak of the gate as it swung freely now from its hinges.

Done and dusted, I said to myself, and stepped through, heading down the nearest path to check on the wards and the spells we'd set. And brought with me in my bag a dozen tea-light candles, a jar of dried rose petals,

a bunch of fresh rosemary tied with a string, and a container of large large unsalted cashews. You might think one of those things is not like the others, and you would be right. The first three were for the dearly departed, and the last one was why I was the best witch for this particular job. I started with the candles, setting them strategically on particular graves, people we'd identified as being healers themselves in their time. storytellers were the ones who, while they were alive, were the glue that held a family together, the light of many lives,

the life of the party. These spirits helped keep our protective spells strong as their own flames fed ours. The rose petals and rosemary sprigs were doled out around and on top of other graves to spread love and remembrance among those who might feel forgotten. As I lit the candles and spread the petals, I said the names on the graves. This itself is a kind of magic.

To say the names of the ones we've lost and remember them. It keeps them with us. Finally, I took the container of cashews from my bag and opened it in a clearing in the center of the graveyard. When I looked up into the branches above me, I saw that they were suddenly full of crows. I smiled up at them, and in my way called them to me. Whoever had called them

a murder of crows, an unkindness of ravens, well, they weren't able to speak to these lovely birds. I call them a circle, just like our group at the Curio's shop. A circle of guardians who help me take care of this place. I sat on a stone bench and the circle sat around me. Some on my shoulders and knees, some at my feet, and we chatted for a bit. I brought them their offer comfort and solace to people who came here, and company to those that stayed under the soil when they promised to do their best.

I tipped the rest of the nuts out onto the bench and rose to go. As I walked the path back to the gate, I could see the lit candles shining through the gate. I could see the lit candles shining through the mist and smell the rosemary on my hands. Make friends, she'd said. I felt I had. The gate swung smoothly open as I approached, and I went through and turned back toward home.

Sweet dreams.