Fall into a deep relaxing sleep with this bedtime story for grown-ups.
You are listening to Sweater Weather.
In this autumn sleep story and guided bedtime meditation,
Travel to a charming village in Rhode Island.
You visit Rose's Boutique to pick up a comfy sweater customized to evoke your most beloved memories.
Dressed in this warm,
Soft sweater,
You explore the village and arrive at the beach at sunset.
Curiosity leads you to a seaside bonfire and a mystical experience helps you connect with loving souls you have longed to see for some time.
You spend the night in a cozy historic guest house on a farm by the sea.
The crisp salty air helps you fall into a deep healing sleep.
It's time to dream away.
I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I am Michelle and as you listen,
You may think of my voice as that of your dear friend and guide.
My intention is to help you feel the most relaxed and safest you have felt in some time.
I hope my voice brings layers of tranquility as you nurture yourself during the sacred time before sleep.
As you set the tone for your sleeping life,
Each thought will craft your dreamscape.
You deserve to shut out the world and go deep within as you settle in the sanctuary of your room and mind.
You have made it through another day and this special time is your reward.
Tune out my voice at any point should sleep arrive before the story ends.
And like a choose your own adventure tale,
Customize each detail to fit your whims and needs right now.
Animals often wiggle and shift and spin around to nest when it's time to fall asleep.
Feel free to do the same and shake away the remnants of the day.
Snuggle into your bed and pillows and let out a big sigh.
On this breath,
Cast away all concerns and worries so you may focus on pleasure and serenity.
Take in the deepest,
Fullest inhalation that your body will allow.
You may enjoy three rounds of conscious breathing with this pattern.
And notice how each breath becomes deeper,
Fuller and releases more tension.
Open your mouth and yawn.
This can be contagious when yawn may trigger the next and each yawn sends messages to your body that your nerves may stand down as you prepare to sleep.
And then sigh and let it all go.
When you are ready,
Inhale,
Feel your body rise as if it could float toward the night sky.
Your inhalation turns into a big,
Sleepy yawn.
And then sigh.
Make a sound and simply let go.
One more round as you inhale,
Expanding the most you have in this brief meditation.
Feel the fullness this breath brings.
Open your mouth into a delicious yawn.
Then blow out your exhalation through pursed lips as if blowing through a straw.
The strength of your exhalation could cause a handful of fallen leaves to take flight.
At the end of the cycle,
Return your breath to a normal rhythm.
Thank your lungs for their efforts,
Even when you are unaware of all that they do.
Your muscles become softer and the thoughts in your mind slow down.
You choose to only allow soothing ideas that drift across the blank canvas of your mind,
Like the tip of a watercolor brush.
In a state of peace and openness,
It's time for the story to begin.
Is there an article of clothing that has always made you feel most like yourself?
Perhaps it brings you comfort and helps you pass through a day with grace and ease.
When life is busy,
It's easy to forget the simple pleasures that come from the right fit and the ideal fabric that slips around the contours of your frame,
Helping you conquer your waking life with a sense of peace and confidence.
In a tiny village along the coast of Rhode Island lives a sweater maker named Rose.
She comes from a long line of healers and nurturing figures,
Not known far beyond the town lines.
Yet Rose has kept their memories alive in framed photos and oil painting portraits that hang in her boutique on Comfort Lane.
The street's name changed from Sixth Street to Comfort Lane nearly a century ago to honor the midwives,
Healers,
Quiltmakers,
Seamstresses,
And artisans who all occupied the two story dwellings and gave an air of peace to the town.
The half dozen tiny streets and lanes wind around the hamlet like a spider's web.
Estuaries,
Ponds,
And the Atlantic Ocean hug the borders of the town.
Endearing names are abundant in the area,
From Patience Island to Moonstone Beach to the Point Judith Harbor of Refuge.
Your buttery boots step on layers of damp leaves that cover the sidewalk like jewel-toned wallpaper.
Rich hues of maroon,
Copper,
Bronze,
Topaz,
And cinnamon pop in the glimmering autumn light.
You playfully glide across them,
Lost in a reverie as the crisp November air causes your nose to tingle.
Smells of decaying leaves,
Spicy wood smoke,
Briny earth,
And dried flowers travel on a breeze.
The fragrant wind rustles overhead leaves,
Making them free to fall and dance around you.
Before arriving in this mystical town,
You are made aware of Rose and her talents for making custom sweaters,
While her granddaughter runs the shop and keeps it stocked with cozy fashion from local designers.
Rose continues to take orders for custom sweaters,
At least for those in the know.
Her fingers still move with the grace and speed they first displayed as a young girl when she learned how to knit and crochet.
It took some time to gather the items Rose requested for inspiration.
You send them in a manila envelope from your local post office.
Rose can be modern and hip for a 90 year old woman,
But when it comes to her craft,
She values the connections of the physical world.
Her veiny and wrinkled fingers grace fabrics and yarn,
Hyper focused on the textures and their feel.
She does her research for each custom sweater,
And pours over hand written passages,
Photos and memories.
The mementos and images offer a vision board of colors,
Feelings and ideas that you wish to experience when wearing the sweater.
In addition to mementos,
You filled out a questionnaire detailing the most cozy moments of your life,
And a playlist of meaningful songs.
Months passed since you placed the order,
All in preparation for an autumn trip to Comfort Lane and a stay at a guest house at the renowned Farm by the Sea.
You turn onto the quaint lane,
And encounter pastel hues on hand painted sides,
Wooden shutters and the trims of historic buildings.
Fences made from twisted pieces of driftwood surround the quaint structures.
The boutique is in the center of the lane.
Floor to ceiling rustic bay windows with buttercream trim showcase colorful knit scarves,
Shawls and sweaters made of chenille and soft yarns.
Gordes and pumpkins and clusters of cranberry and mustard-hued mums line the front of the boutique.
A hand painted sign displays twisted hanks and balls of yarn,
And reads Roses Boutique in cursive.
You open the windowed door to the shop,
And a bell rings to announce your arrival.
Sunlight pours through the bay windows,
And particles dance in the light like fairy dust.
Antique cabinets and armoires display scarves,
Sweaters,
Shawls and socks.
Photos and paintings on the white wooden walls celebrate Roses lineage of proud strong women.
In one of the frames,
You see the first scarf that Rose ever knit.
Rosie her granddaughter fusses with a jewelry display by the cash register as a small Yorkie runs to greet you.
Rosie stops what she is doing and welcomes you by name,
Having expected your arrival.
She waves her hand and says to follow her to meet her grandmother.
You walk through a door that leads to a well organized storage area and sitting room.
Rose sits in a tufted armchair behind a table scattered with yarn and photos.
She faces French doors that overlook the autumn leaf dappled backyard,
And a pond that reflects the colorful trees and silver white clouds.
It from another time softly plays with warm melodies and lyrics about love and autumn.
Rose turns to meet you with a glimmer in her eye.
She is sharp.
One glance is all she needs to get the full story of someone she just met.
And of course,
All the details you sent her don't hurt in gathering this information.
Rose's shrewdness has a kindness to it,
Layered with curiosity and empathy,
Forever wondering how people end up crossing paths with her in this life,
And what she can do to make life a bit more pleasing for them.
Rose stands and smiles,
Extending her hands to greet you with a warm hug.
Her embrace and openness greet you with the unconditional love of a grandmother.
Rosie smiles,
So used to sharing her beloved Rose with the world,
That the jealousy she felt as a child has transformed through time into deep gratitude for having a grandmother who has touched so many lives.
Rose walks to a cherry wood armoire and opens the door to grab a sweater carefully wrapped in cream-hued tissue paper.
She invites you to join her for a cup of tea before you try on the handmade garment.
You follow Rose to a cafe table,
With two chairs near the window.
A rose-painted porcelain tea kettle sits with two cups on a silver tray,
Along with a ceramic vase filled with dried eucalyptus and orange thistles.
You sit and sink into the plush cushions of the seat,
And Rose sets your sweater on a striped cushioned window seat.
You feel more comfortable than you have ever felt visiting with someone you hardly know.
Your inner voice calms you with a whisper you tune into.
It says,
Listen to all she has to offer.
Stay open.
You trust this feeling,
And you trust Rose.
She pours a steaming amber liquid from the teapot into your cup and smiles.
She fancies three sugar cubes in hers,
And tells you to add whatever you like to yours.
Lemon wedges,
A cup of milk,
Sugar cubes,
Honey,
Orange peels,
And agave are arranged on the tray.
You help yourself,
Thanking her for her hospitality.
Rose defiantly declares that no matter what the doctor says about sugar,
The joy she gets from a sweet tea gives her the will and desire to live to one hundred.
You imagine even the doctor cannot argue that.
You sip the tea,
And as the warm liquid flows down your throat and alivens your palate,
You feel this may be the most delicious tea you have ever had.
The tasting notes are complex.
The tannins are soft,
That leave your tongue slightly velvety.
Another old tune crackles through the room,
With lyrics about the evening breeze.
Rose closes her eyes,
And inhales the tea to savor the moment.
You do the same,
Aware of every sensation in this pleasant gathering.
The warm sunlight on your hands and face,
The music,
The soft,
Relaxed breaths of you and Rose,
And the muted voice of a customer in the shop being helped by Rosie.
You focus on the satin tapestry of the cushions that support you.
The smells of cinnamon,
Tea,
Dried eucalyptus,
Vanilla,
And sweet aged wood create a natural soothing perfume.
You open your eyes to find Rose kindly studying your face.
She says,
I never took well to unsolicited advice,
And over nearly nine decades,
I've been given a lot of it.
So please don't take this as anything but a bit of encouragement.
When you leave the shop,
You may experience unexpected adventures.
They happen all the time in this magical village.
I've always found things show up at the right time,
Even if we don't know it at the time.
I hope you stay open to all the experiences,
And I hope this sweater does its job in keeping you warm and happy.
Rose picks up the wrapped sweater and places it in your hands.
You peel back the crinkly paper slowly,
Wanting to savor every second of its reveal.
The first color swatches and patterns you see of the garment send you on a journey of memories and emotions.
Rose made the sweater with colors that tap deep into your subconscious mind,
Reminding you of your most beloved seasonal adventures and some memories that you hold dear but have not accessed in a while.
You place the soft knit against your nose and cheek,
And when you inhale,
A faint aroma takes you back to a room that always felt safest to you.
It was a room where you felt free to imagine and dream,
Where it was safe to be yourself.
As the fabric rubs against your skin,
It evokes memories of a favorite blanket and other articles of clothing that were the most beloved during different times of your life.
Somehow with the yarns,
Patterns,
And colors that Rose used,
She manages to represent all the versions of yourself that you have loved and nurtured through time.
Her artistry is so profound that your mind cannot make sense of it,
Nor do you want logic to apply.
You much prefer to enjoy the sense of comfort and hope the sweater brings throughout your body,
Externally and internally.
Rose grins and walks to a small changing room.
She draws back the teal velvet curtains,
And you step inside the mirrored room.
You catch your reflection and look like someone who has just come in from an autumn walk.
But when you change into the sweater,
You feel noticeably different as the fabric forms around your body fit to your preferences.
You take in a deep breath and note how your face begins to glow.
You look more vibrant and healthier,
And blink your eyes a few times,
Thinking perhaps you are imagining this.
But you aren't.
This sweater brings peace and confidence,
And however silly that may be,
And however superficial some may deem fashion to be,
In this transformative moment,
You feel better in the sweater.
This feeling is an access point.
After all the times in your life you wore something that felt right,
That made you stand a little taller,
Believe in yourself,
And not care for a moment what anyone thought.
Because this experience was unique and fulfilling for you,
Regardless of outside influences.
You pull back the curtain to find Rose patiently waiting.
She knows the answer from the look on your face,
Yet still she asks,
How does it feel?
You tell her it is amazing and thank her.
She offers you a canvas tote that says Rose's Boutique,
And helps you place your worn shirt inside.
She puts the envelope of your mementos into the bag as well.
Rose looks at you and says,
Over time our clothes collect memories in layers,
And I hope the first memory you have of the sweater in my shop is one that always brings a smile to your face.
And as you explore this evening,
I hope you only add more beautiful memories to it.
You thank her kindly,
As Rose appears in the back room to check in.
She asks if you're ready,
And you say yes,
And then thank Rose one more time.
She hugs her small strong arms around you and whispers,
I like all my sweaters to feel like a special hug and remind her that you are loved my dear.
You smile and look at her generous eyes and wonder to yourself,
What would this world look like if everyone were as kind as Rose?
Rosie rings you up at an antique cash register and places a sachet of cedar in your bag with a card on how to care for the sweater.
Rosie Yorkie is curled up in a ball,
Fast asleep atop a crocheted blanket in her dog bed.
Rosie mentions how much her grandmother enjoyed making your sweater,
And listening to the playlist of songs you provided,
That occasionally still find their way into Rose's personal playlist.
You leave the boutique,
And the wooden door rattles as it closes.
The bell rings like a bookend to your experience at the shop.
You follow Comfort Lane towards the beach as the sun begins to set.
Rustic cottages line the western end of the lane,
And they are still adorned with autumnal decorations.
The trees closest to the beach are bearer than those in the heart of town.
Their branches are more vulnerable to wind gusts off the ocean,
And so they shed their leaves first.
The air smells sweeter the closer you get to the beach,
From the musky presence of salt water and forgotten aquatic beings left on the shoreline at low tide.
The sun is the shade of a glowing pumpkin,
Pouring fiery red light onto the centuries-old wood-clad cottages.
Tall seagrass rises around the beach,
And you walk down a wooden ramp to the shore.
White stones look like glowing pieces of coal in the golden hour light,
And the sand becomes a shade of orange-pink.
You watch the sun slip away behind a marina,
And the magenta-gold light pours through the spaces between masts and around the few boats not yet stored for the winter.
Their optimistic owners hold out for one last November sail.
On the beach,
Small flames engulf a high stack of logs,
Aligned like pieces of a Jenga puzzle.
Small shelves and dry sand travel on a crisp breeze that fuels the flames as they grow.
Your sweater keeps you toasty and comforted as you think about what Rose said.
This sweater had its own memories in her loving hands,
And now as you create new memories,
Its colors change beneath the glow of sorbet skies.
For saturated in sunset hues,
You know the sweater will often remind you of the salty air,
The cool breeze off the ocean,
And the rich autumn light.
You face the waves coming in with creamy lace-like caps that leave foam across the sand and shed shells in their wake.
Spray from the surf covers your face in droplets that are barely visible,
But strongly felt.
You lick the salt water from your lips and breathe to the rhythm of the tide.
You close your eyes to better feel the surf as it bounds on the packed sand,
Causing your feet to vibrate.
The whispers of the waves slow your heart and bring you deeper into a state of relaxation.
When you open your eyes again,
The sky is a rich gradient of nautical blues,
And stars begin to emerge.
You look down the beach to the bonfire that grows higher the darker the twilight sky becomes.
Silky blue waves wash over a dog's footprints that run parallel to footprints made by boots leading to the fire.
Curiosity prompts you to follow them,
And now your boots sink into the clay-like sand as you skirt around the incoming tide.
When you arrive at the bonfire,
You encounter an older man seated on a sand-dusted rock next to his yellow lab.
The dog remains seated,
With his tail wagging and creating a fan-like pattern in the sand.
The man says hello in a raspy voice,
And introduces himself as Stanley.
He welcomes you to enjoy the fire,
And explains the village has a bonfire,
The beginning of each month in the off-season,
Maintained by a volunteer,
As a way to encourage people to get outside during the colder months.
He says you are early,
And that over the years of this tradition,
Many who come have had visions and memories of loved ones they long to connect with.
You smile politely,
And while a bit unconventional,
Your inner voice urges you to take a seat and stay for a while.
You perch yourself on a rock across from Stanley.
The flames roar between you.
You suddenly see wood stumps and rocks that offer a circle of seats around the blaze.
You gaze at the flames that rise taller than you stand.
The bonfire reflects on the wet sand and dark blue waves.
And all the memories that floated through your mind,
Conjured by the sweater as you rode them like one wave to the next,
Through portals of gratitude,
Love,
And connection,
Return now.
Seated,
Comfortable in your cozy sweater,
These memories come to life as the most meaningful and influential people appear around the fire.
These souls are always with you,
The most vibrant and glittering pieces of the mosaic you have become,
Touched in some way by each one of them.
The person who often made you laugh the most appears to your right.
And seeing their face makes it hard to suppress a spontaneous giggle.
The person who encouraged you to go after a dream,
Perhaps some time long ago,
Is here to encourage you to keep dreaming.
A nurturing soul who is always there to make you feel safe when the world felt anything but safe,
Stands behind you.
Someone you loved deeply,
Who brought more feeling out of you than anyone has before or since appears to your left.
Everyone is here with you,
Kept in the memory capsules that continue to shape you.
In this moment you hang on to the things you love most about them,
Keeping alive these characteristics in yourself.
And as you thank them,
They fade into the night as if in a dream.
But their feeling and energy remain,
And so does your connection.
The firelight is hot on your face,
And you are ready to return to the farm by the sea to unwind in your rented guest house.
You welcome the reprieve from the fire that comes with the cool air and salt water breeze.
You say good night to Stanley and thank him.
Your feet become heavy as you walk on the moonlit beach.
Step by step,
You become more and more tired and ready for a comfortable bed,
A night of slumber,
Twinkling mason jar lights strung around the farm by the sea guide you back to the guest house.
All the animals on the farm have been fed and are now tucked away in the barn and coops.
You follow a stone path to the shingled guest house perched on a hill overlooking the ocean to the south and the farm to the north.
You enter and discover a kind handwritten note from the farm's owner wishing you a good night and a basket of homemade soap,
Fresh towels and lotion.
The guest house is modest and has a kitchenette,
A living room with a comfortable sofa by the wood stove and a sleeping nook tucked in the corner.
Logs burn inside the stove and flames cause tiny shadows to dance on the wooden floors and walls.
Mason jar lights run across exposed wooden beams beneath the high ceiling.
You go to the quaint bathroom to wash your face and hands with the creamy soap and then apply the lotion to your hands.
Feeling the sleep inducing powers of its aroma,
You change into flannel pajamas and drape your beloved new sweater over a rocking chair so you may still see it from the sleeping nook.
Come morning sunlight will pour in from skylights but now the sweater basks in the silver moonlight.
Feeling it makes your heart swell with gratitude and appreciation,
The sweater feels like an extension of you.
You walk over to the sleeping nook and pull back the freshly laundered quilt and sheets.
You climb into the bed and tuck yourself in.
This moment feels heavenly.
The perfect ending to a perfect day.
You close your eyes and let your mind drift towards a night of healing sleep.
Surrendering,
Releasing,
Relaxing on a journey to repose and restoration.
You float between worlds,
Back and forth between the farm guesthouse and the comforts of sleep.
Feeling down,
Down,
Down,
Finding peace,
Finding serenity,
Finding rest,
Finding sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
