Autumn Cruise | Calm Sleep Story With Fire Sounds

Fall asleep fast and enjoy the sweetest of dreams in this relaxing sleep story.

You are listening to The Autumn Cruise,

A bedtime story for grown-ups in guided sleep meditation that embraces all the comforts of fall.

A day of unseasonable warmth greets you as you set out on a steamboat cruise on the queen of American lakes nestled within the foothills of the Adirondacks,

Rolling mounds of peak fall foliage,

Basque and gilded light.

A soft mist slithers across the pristine lake as you revel in the beauty of the season.

A fiery sunset leads to a drop in temperature as you return to the shore at twilight and enjoy a night at a historic bed and breakfast.

So find a safe place to get cozy,

Relax and fall asleep.

It's time to dream away.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I am Michelle and as you listen,

Think of me as a trusted and supportive friend who reminds you of all the splendor you may explore in this world.

I am here just for you.

To remind you that your needs matter and this time is exclusively yours to unwind at the end of the day.

You deserve sleep.

You deserve to conjure the most soothing experiences to help you transition from your waking life to dreamscapes deep in the night.

In your dreams you may explore pleasurable moments and harvest solutions.

Customize each part of this journey to better self-soothe.

At any point you may fall asleep and let go of my voice.

In the safety of your bed and in the sanctuary of your mind,

Body and room,

Take a deep breath.

Imagine you are inhaling crisp mountain air that smells of a fresh water lake,

Sweet leaves,

Wood smoke and caramelized pumpkin.

The aromas transport you and conjure cozy thoughts.

Your body expands and feels light.

In your mouth and yawn as you signal to your nerves that it's time to slow down.

Exhale.

Sigh.

Visualize that your out-breath has the power of a November wind.

Setting free the changing leaves from trees in a forest,

Releasing them for new adventures.

Unwanted thoughts take flight with these leaves absorbed by the vastness of the woodlands.

At your own pace,

Continue to inhale.

Yawn.

Inhale in a sigh.

Each round creates more space in your body as you expand,

Surrender and sink into your bed.

Safe.

Nurtured.

Loved.

Inhale.

Yawn.

Sigh.

Sigh as you exhale with a timing that feels right for you.

Recognize how much more relaxed you feel than moments ago.

During this practice,

Should your mind wander to places you do not want to go,

You may always return your attention to your breath and inhale,

Yawn and sigh.

Return your breath to normal.

In a state of ease,

Your imagination welcomes the fluidity of a dream as you settle and unwind.

It's time for the story to begin.

Not every lake dreams to be an ocean.

Blessed are the ones who are happy with whom they are.

Mehmet Muret Ildan.

Nestled in the foothills of the Adirondacks,

One may enjoy the queen of American lakes.

A 32-mile lake surrounded by rustic and friendly communities.

The lakeside villages swell in population during the summer months.

Boats dabble the clear blue water and popular songs reverberate across the lake from band shells and gazebos on the shore.

In November,

The lake is placid and the fall hot air balloon festival and Halloween parades welcome a slowdown period.

It's the perfect time to visit and escape the demands of daily life when the locals come out to partake in the last steamboat ride of the season.

The air is unseasonably warm for the mountainous region that often experiences its first morning frosts when schools reopen.

You stand in queue for the sunset cruise.

The warm light shines on your face with such a persistent glow that it is hard to imagine darkness will come in a couple hours.

A small bag perched on your arm contains a custom sweater you bought in Rhode Island for when the temperature shifts.

Everyone in this region knows the importance of layering.

The soft knitted fabric was made with love by a woman named Rose.

The colors and pattern,

The feel of the fabric,

And the way the sweater hugs perfectly around you make you look forward to this evening and adding a new memory to this beloved garment.

A vibrant tapestry of flaming red,

Copper,

And orange leaves cloak the rolling foothills,

Bordered by snow-dusted mountain peaks in the distance.

The voice of the local weather anchor carried throughout the dining room of your bed and breakfast earlier in the day.

Forecasting a sharp change in the temperature as a cold front moves in,

His energetic delivery boasted that the evening gusts would have the power to leave the trees barren by morning.

Knowing this makes the present beauty of a warm fall afternoon all the more precious to you and the locals boarding the steamboat.

A soft breeze creates ripples on the lake,

Transporting an eclectic array of red maple leaves to the rocky shore.

Dogs run on a beach on the other side of the pier,

And a water-loving chocolate lab runs into the lake to fetch a stick.

The water hovers around 55 degrees Fahrenheit,

And the dog darts out of the cold water fast to shake off and bask in the hot sun.

The lake cools the air,

Offering a generous reprieve from the unseasonal warmth and brilliant sunlight.

As you walk,

You feel the varying pockets of warm and cool air.

You walk across the pier and board the steamboat,

Passing by a young couple that poses playfully behind a staged white and nautical blue life preserver that reads,

Welcome aboard.

You continue up two flights of stairs to the upper deck and find a seat.

The steamboat is at less than half capacity when the horn sounds and the boat slips away from the dock.

Silvery white tufts emerge from the smokestack,

Creating swirling clouds in the sky.

Dreamy shapes appear as you focus softly on formations that remind you of a baby elephant,

An orchid,

And a rocket.

You aren't alone in this imaginative play.

You hear the sweet voice of a little girl enjoying her first time on a boat.

I see a rocket ship in the sky,

She declares.

Connected with the present moment,

You remember that the world is a constant canvas with hidden artistic gems and deeper meanings that are found when you become still enough to observe.

On this Autumn cruise,

Your sole purpose is to observe and to be present to the fleeting warmth of this Autumn day.

You imagine what it would be like to always be so attentive,

Not relying on the impermanence of a season to motivate you.

No moment is ever the same,

Even when caught up in the mundanity of routine and daily tasks.

Slowing down and paying attention to the evocative visuals,

Smells,

And sounds in this present moment help you find appreciation for all the things that are going right for you to experience this.

You overhear the small girl counting her favorite things about her first steamboat ride,

And detailing them to her mother as the vessel travels toward the heart of the lake.

Her gratitude causes your mind to drift to the things you feel most grateful for in this moment yourself.

The ability to travel and float across a majestic lake.

The November sun on your face.

The crisp mountain air that purifies you with each breath.

The way sunlight hits the cerulean water and forms millions of tiny golden orbs that shimmer from shore to shore.

The support of the seat that contours around your body as you settle.

The gentle motions of the boat that lull you into a deep state of relaxation.

You realize you may practice this act of gratitude in your waking life even during the most overwhelming days.

You may close your eyes and gently harvest five aspects of the moment that bring you joy in a scavenger hunt for peace.

The steamboat cruise makes the search for peace easy,

As every detail elevates your tranquility to a state of resonating bliss.

The whispering autumn wind off the lake brushes against your face and bare arms,

And goosebumps of pleasure form.

Families and couples on the upper deck pose for photos with a backdrop of rolling hills dripping in autumnal hues.

The inquisitive little girl nearby declares how she and her mother should take a photo.

And you ask if they would like you to take it.

The mother warmly smiles and thanks you.

They rise and stand against the white wooden railing,

And the little girl poses awkwardly,

Forcing a smile with clenched teeth.

You look her in the eyes with a playful gaze and tell her to make a very serious face.

No laughing allowed.

Reverse psychology does its job.

Her lips tighten at first,

But ultimately betray her when a wave of exuberant giggles breaks free like water released from a dam.

She cannot stop laughing.

And you capture the joyous moment of her and her mother.

Captivating gold light flares behind them and creates an angelic halo above her head.

It is a photo that the young girl will look back to often,

Capturing her first time on a boat.

And when seeing it,

She'll always mention the kind person who helped take that photo.

Of course,

To be fair.

The young girl offers to take your photo too.

You stand against the railing,

Feeling the cool lacquered wood beneath your hands and pose.

The young girl struggles with her tiny hands,

Cautious to prevent her fingertips from blocking the lens.

She studies your pose,

And like an inside joke says,

You must be very serious.

But you cannot,

As the muscles below your cheeks tense and you break out in an infectious laugh.

The little girl giggles,

Shooting one photo after the next.

And her mother smiles at this unexpected connection you have with her daughter.

Her pride and love for this girl could not be more apparent.

The girl insists that you review the picture she took.

You find the one that captures the levity of the moment.

You see yourself in a way you haven't in some time.

You see the person you are today,

With a glimmer in your eyes,

And an expression on your face that is unapologetically childlike.

You thank her,

And she proudly cries out,

You're welcome.

She then leaves with her mother to explore the vessel.

You stand with your arms resting on the railing and take in the view.

The captain's voice echoes throughout the steamboat as he gives a brief history of the lake and mentions the artists who once spent summers in cabins and cottages on sprawling emerald hills that rise from the lake shore.

Artists like Georgia O'Keeffe and opera singers including Marcella Sembrich would enjoy their retreat at the lake in search of repose and inspiration.

The paddle wheel spins,

Propelling the craft through the lake water.

It captivates you with a cascade of white water,

Hypnotizing you and letting your thoughts become quiet.

Like you,

These great minds and artistic souls feasted in the nature that now surrounds you.

Their experiences are like soap bubbles that vanished one day.

No trace remaining but for the permanent,

Pervading tranquility offered by the protective foothills and silky water.

You're not the only person to take in this scenery now or over thousands of years.

And this thought grounds you with a deep sense of connection to all who have come before you,

With all who enjoy this mystical cruise right now,

And all those who will one day come to experience the magnificent lake.

The steamboat travels around an island for one,

Where a single room log cabin sits in the center of the forested earth.

The rustic dwelling serves as a retreat for those seeking solitude,

For writers and artists,

For teachers and dreamers.

A single red maple tree sits among balsam fir,

Eastern red pine,

And white cedar trees.

The perfume of the conifers aromatizes the air,

But the vibrant beauty of the fiery red maple leaves stands out in your mind.

A leaf falls from the tree,

Swept on the late day breeze,

And soon lost on the wind current redirected by the vessel,

The leaf continues to drift down,

Down,

Down,

Surrendering to its destiny.

Without resistance,

And with the innate composition to take flight on the slightest gust,

You admire the leaf.

You are captivated as it floats over the steamboat,

Nearly close enough that you could catch it.

But you know better than to interfere,

And curiosity keeps you attentive to its journey.

Like a loose feather,

It floats north and then south,

Slowly back and forth,

As gravity pulls it towards the lake.

As you watch this leaf,

Transfixed on its motion,

You imagine how freeing it would feel to surrender to the soft winds and let go of everything that was once familiar.

It is something every leaf experiences at the end of a season,

And it does so without resistance or regret.

The maple leaf makes the act of letting go seem necessary,

And yet so simple.

You close your eyes and enjoy the gentle rocking of the boat.

You sigh.

Every muscle in your body finds release right now.

Tension that you were unaware of suddenly releases,

And in the wake of this softness,

You enjoy a lingering sense of ease in your physical being.

You open your eyes just as the red maple leaf lands in rays of amber sunlight,

Reflecting off the lake.

As the boat continues to move,

You lose sight of it.

You lose sight of the leaf.

A part of you feels sad to see it go,

While another part of you knows you will think of this leaf at milestones when you must move forward and let go.

The sun creeps towards the jewel-toned hills of autumn trees,

Moments away from slipping beyond the horizon.

On this unseasonably warm day,

The moon does not wait for the sun to sleep.

It appears in the sky as a faint,

Opal sphere,

A nearly full moon that will illuminate the night when the sun disappears.

The captain announces the boat will begin its journey back to the pier.

He thanks everyone for being part of the last voyage of the season.

For over 200 years,

The steamboat company has transported people across the lake,

And the captain's voice cracks with pride for being part of this legacy.

You think of all the souls,

The many eras of fashion,

Of strife,

Of advancements,

And of similar curiosities about the human condition that everyone who cruised on the lake must have felt at some time.

This idea makes you feel less alone,

Connected to something far beyond yourself.

The enchanting pulchritude of this landscape is timeless and has been felt by all who see it,

Regardless of their life situation,

Regardless of the labels put on them.

You watch the sun set as it falls off behind the silhouette of wooded hills so quickly that one glance away would cause you to miss it.

The fiery orb is a shade of clover honey as it pours the last light of the day over the lake before dipping beyond the horizon.

The air becomes nippy almost the moment it is gone.

The colors in the sky swirl like tufts of cotton candy and melted orange creamsicles.

Remove your beloved sweater from your bag and pull it over your head,

Grateful for its warmth.

By the time the steamboat docks,

Your breath condenses in the air.

You are one of the last passengers to disembark and catch up with the little girl and her mother.

The young child playfully exhales,

Amazed at her ability to form clouds in the air.

The captain stands near the exit,

Wishing everyone well and offering the hope they will return again in the next season.

You walk on the cement sidewalk and feel like you are still in motion,

Rocking ever so slightly as if still on the steamboat.

Your legs steady and you sigh,

Grounding yourself as tiredness creeps in.

Brought on by the early darkness,

The moon rises above the village and illuminates the shadows between golden street lamps.

A soft mist rises around the lake and coats your lips and face with silky beads of fresh water.

You walk up a hill to a residential cul-de-sac,

Tucked away from shops and tourist attractions of Main Street,

Now shuttered in the off season.

The remnants of Halloween add pops of orange on the street and you watch as a squirrel eats out of a sugar pumpkin on the porch of a historic cottage.

You arrive at the majestic bed and breakfast.

It has been in operation for nearly as long as the steamboat company.

You climb the porch steps as a wind gust whips around the lane,

Freeing leaves from the trees and stirring those that accumulated in the gutter into tiny cyclones.

The air feels cold enough to bring a frost,

And you are so happy to be back at your accommodations.

The 19th century home has retained its original mahogany front door with a stained glass window that depicts the blues of the lakes and rich green shades of conifers in its mosaic.

You think of how nice it would be to return home every day to these beautiful details crafted at a time when every detail of the home mattered and was an opportunity for an artisan to display their craft.

You enter the foyer and a wave of warm,

Dry air welcomes you.

You inhale the aroma of cinnamon sticks and dried orange peels from a homemade potpourri that sits in a wicker basket on an entry table.

You remove your shoes and slip your feet into a pair of slippers left for you by the innkeeper.

As soft as marshmallows and as warm as the plumage of a Canada goose,

These pillowy slippers envelop your feet.

As you ascend a wide staircase to the second floor,

Your hand glides across the cherry-wood banister,

Supporting you as you ascend the stairs,

Becoming more and more tired with each step.

1 2 3 4 5 6 You yawn as you continue up the stairs.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 You arrive at the landing and walk down the narrow hallway past a row of suites,

Photos and paintings of another time,

Of black and white images from the Victorian era taken by the lake.

Decorate the walls.

The women wear frilly blouses and corsets,

And the men sport wool suits and top hats.

You arrive at your room and open the door.

The hinges softly squeak.

The innkeeper left a tray on a table by the fireplace,

Containing a small snack,

A pot of tea,

A cup and a saucer.

Orange marmalade flames from the fire illuminate the room in warm hues,

Along with a red-orange hurricane lamp and a lace doily on the bedstand.

The interior design is feminine and soft,

Replicated from another era.

Change into your favorite loungewear and enjoy some tea and a snack,

Fighting to keep your eyes open.

But with each breath,

And with each crackle and pop of the burning logs in the fire,

You become more and more tired.

It is a luxury to be away from the demands of your life,

Free to go to sleep whenever you feel like it.

And so you succumb to the sensation of tiredness and walk to the canopy bed that drips in velvet fabric.

You pull back the ivory chenille comforter and sateen sheets.

You hoist your tired body onto the bed,

Elevated high above the silk floral throw rug that covers the wooden floorboards.

Your head sinks into the pillows as they form around your neck and head.

The mattress contours to your body as you find stillness.

You sink deeper and deeper into the state of rest and comfort.

You drift between your waking and sleeping life in this hazy,

Delicious in-between world.

Feeling warm and content,

You listen to the wind whipping around the house just the same as it has for centuries.

You imagine surrendering to the wind,

Letting it carry you off into the night as it carries the newly freed leaves.

You glide into the dreamscape that awaits you as you surrender to the calling of sleep,

Letting go,

Drifting deeper and deeper down.

Your relaxation comes in layers,

Dreams built upon dreams,

Nestled in the canopy bed,

In another world and time.

You revel in this beautiful healing oasis,

Finding peace,

Finding stillness,

Finding yourself,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.