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 hear on Nothing Much Happens.
Audio engineering is by Bob Widdersheim.
We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past.
It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location.
And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different.
But the stories are always soothing and family friendly.
And our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.
So my listeners, I've been working on something special to help you unwind both in mind and body.
It's a weighted pillow.
It's made just for us by quiet mind.
Now, how many times have you heard me say that busy minds need a place to rest?
Quiet mind answered.
I have one on my lap right now.
I use one whenever I record.
The gentle pressure keeps me grounded in my body and cues my nervous system to relax and rebuild.
These are the perfect holiday gifts for nothing much happens fans.
I picked the color myself.
And the first 100 orders will get two free months of our premium plus podcast subscription.
You can order now through the link in our bio.
Let me say something about how to use this podcast.
I'm going to tell you a story.
To help you relax and drop off into sleep.
I'll tell it twice and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
The story is like a landing pad for your mind, a soft place for it to rest.
If you find yourself still awake at the end of the first or second telling, don't worry, that's a good rule of thumb in general.
When you're trying to fall asleep, don't worry, relax.
Take your mind back to the beginning of the story and walk yourself back through the details that you remember.
Especially any bit that felt particularly cozy.
You're training your brain and body to wind down.
And the more often you do it, the faster you will fall asleep.
Our story tonight is called First Frost.
And it's a story about enjoying the sparkle of the first signs of winter.
It's also about a kitty watching the birds on a cold morning.
Pine cones scented with cinnamon.
And something precious waiting to be found.
Now, it's time to turn off the light and put away whatever you are working on or playing with.
Snuggle yourself down into the most comfortable position you can find.
You might have an ideal sleep position that's tried and true.
Get into it. All of this helps to signal to your brain that it's time to close up shop.
I'll be here, my voice, a guardian in the darkness.
It's safe to let go.
So let's take a slow breath in through the nose.
And a soft sigh out of the mouth.
One more like that, in and out.
Good. First Frost, it could have been any day this week.
The temperature at night had been dropping closer and closer to it.
And some of my neighbors had been pulling their pots of mums and decorative cabbages in from the stupid night, hoping to make them last just a little longer.
I thought about doing the same, but at some point, the frost would come, right?
At some point, we'd have to let our autumn plants go and welcome the creeping lines of ice to our window panes and cabbage leaves.
And this morning, as I drew back the heavy curtain from the front window, I saw that it had come.
I looked closely at the window itself.
The icy pattern curving at the corners of each pane looked like tiny ferns that had unfurled from frozen fiddleheads while I was sleeping.
It is interesting how nature repeats herself.
The plants in my window box now replaced with these frosty counterparts.
I looked out to the yard, blades of grass tipped with white and stiff with cold.
And the gate at the end of the front walk, looking as though it had been draped with stringy cobwebs.
As I watched, a bundled newspaper came sailing skillfully over it and it thumped against my front door.
I waved a friendly hand from the window at whoever had delivered it.
But as I couldn't see them, I doubted that they could see me.
We stepped over to the door to retrieve the paper.
First twisting the deadbolt, then sliding the chain and unfastening the latch.
My silly row of door locks, which only existed because I very much liked the feeling of closing out the rest of the world when I got home at night.
Now, as the sun was rising higher, bright beams bouncing off my frosted window, I was happy to welcome it back in.
I squatted down on the stoop and unrolled the paper.
I'd noticed it getting thicker in the last few weeks.
As notices for holiday events and sales began to fill it out.
We stood with it in my arms and looked out at the street for a few moments.
Letting the chill shiver up my spine and taking deep breaths of the wonderfully fresh cold air I thought I might take a look at the paper first, then bundle up and walk through town.
Sometimes, not often, but every once in a while, the frost will meet with warming air as the sun comes up and a kind of cold fog will rise and catch in the branches of trees.
I thought it might be one of those days and I was eager to walk the park and see what I could.
I closed the door behind me and shuffled in my slippers through to the kitchen.
I laid the paper on the table and pulled up a chair.
The weather was predicted to warm a bit as the day went on, which boated well for my outing.
There was going to be a winter greenery market in the park in early December and I made a mental note of the dates, skimming the classifieds.
I saw an ad I'd read a few times before about a ring that had been lost somewhere downtown between the movie theater and the stationery shop.
I frowned at the two -inch high article.
I didn't know who had posted it, who had been looking for that ring, but I hoped it would be found.
I read the description again.
The yellow gold, an emerald, a few small diamonds, a family heirloom.
I refolded the paper and stacked it neatly on the table and went to get my coat.
We stopped to look into the small room at the back of the house, whose floor -to -ceiling bookshelves were stuffed with novels and snow globes and picture frames.
On her bed, on the window seat, my old gray kitty was curled up and watching the birds at their feeder in the backyard.
I rested my hand on her side and whispered that her bowl was full and that I'd be back in a bit.
I could feel the thrum of her purr through her soft fur.
She flicked her tail once and I leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She allowed it, then turned her green eyes back to the window.
I pulled on my coat and hat and stepped back out the front door, pulling it tightly behind me.
It wasn't bitter out, but it was cold and I was glad to find gloves in my pockets.
I went through my gate and turned on the sidewalk toward town.
The frost was thick, coating fence rails and mailboxes and planters.
At the green grocer on the corner, I stopped to look at the bins of delicata squash and long stalks of Brussels sprouts that were set out.
In a bushel barrel propped by the door were large pine cones scented with cinnamon heaped into a pyramid.
Across the street at the diner, the booths were full when I could see a waitress setting down a tall stack of pancakes in front of a smiling customer.
I walked further, feeling my body warming up with the exercise.
By the entrance to the park, I stopped at the kiosk and bought a coffee.
The man inside was well wrapped in a long scarf.
And as we chatted, he poured my cup and pointed to the small heater going at his feet.
First morning I needed it, he said, handing the coffee over to me.
We told each other to stay warm, which is as common a greeting as good morning around here in the wintertime.
And I walked into the park.
The sun was reflecting on the pond, which was still full of a paddling of ducks.
Most were out on the water, unbothered by the temperature, their bright orange feet pushing them around from one end of the small lake to the other.
There were a few other people walking the path, though almost no one was stopping to sit on a bench today.
Better to keep your blood pumping.
Past the lake, there is a broad, open meadow with just a few trees scattered around.
And sure enough, they looked like they were draped with clouds.
Thick, cold fog clung to their branches.
I sipped my coffee.
It was strong and almost bitter and delicious.
I walked closer to one of the trees.
I wanted to see up close what it would look like.
If, as usually happens, it would seem to disappear as I neared.
The grass around it was still white with frost and sparkling in the sun.
When I stepped to the base of the tree, I looked down rather than up as my shadow blocked the sun and saw among the white blades of grass a glint of green.
I wouldn't have seen it if the frost had not painted the landscape with ice.
I squatted down and brushed aside a few frost -covered leaves, capping what seemed to be a squirrel's hidey hole.
Yellow gold. An emerald.
A few small diamonds.
A family heirloom. My smile was sudden and huge across my face as I reached down and dug out the ring.
I even forgot to look up and learn the secret of the fog.
As I carefully pocketed the precious thing on my way home to answer a classified ad, I thought, first frost, I could have been any day this week.
The temperature at night had been dropping, closer and closer to it.
And some of my neighbors had been pulling their pots of mums and decorative cabbages in from the stoop at night, hoping to make them last just a little longer.
I'd thought about doing the same, but at some point, the frost would come, right?
At some point, we'd have to let our autumn plants go and welcome the creeping lines of ice to our window panes and cabbage leaves.
And this morning, as I drew back a heavy curtain from the front window, I saw that it had come.
I looked closely at the window itself, the icy pattern curving at the corners of each pane.
It looked like tiny ferns that had unfurled from frozen fiddleheads while I was sleeping.
It is interesting how nature repeats herself.
The plants in my window box now replaced with these frosty counterparts.
I looked out to the yard, blades of grass tipped with white and stiff with cold.
And the gate at the end of the front walk, looking as though it had been draped with stringy cobwebs.
As I watched, a bundled newspaper came sailing skillfully over it and it thumped against my front door.
I waved a friendly hand from the window at whoever had delivered it, but as I couldn't see them, I doubted that they could see me.
I stepped over to the door to retrieve the paper, first twisting the deadbolt.
Then sliding the chain and unfastening the latch.
My silly row of door locks, which only existed because I very much liked the feeling of closing out the rest of the world when I got home at night.
Now, as the sun was rising higher, bright beams bouncing off my frosted window, I was happy to welcome it back in.
I squatted down on the stoop and unrolled the paper.
I had noticed it getting thicker in the last few weeks as notices for holiday events and sales began to fill it out.
I stood with it in my arms and looked out at the street for a few moments.
Letting the chill shiver up my spine and taking deep breaths of the wonderfully fresh cold air.
I thought I might take a look at the paper first, then bundle up and walk through town.
Sometimes, not often, but every once in a while, the frost will meet with warming air as the sun comes up.
The frost will meet with warming air as the sun comes up.
A kind of cold fog will rise and catch in the branches of trees.
I thought it might be one of those days.
I was eager to walk the park and see what I could.
I closed the door behind me and shuffled in my slippers through to the kitchen.
I laid the paper on the table and pulled up a chair.
The weather was predicted to warm a bit as the day went on, which voted well for my outing.
There was going to be a winter greenery market in the park in early December and I made a mental note of the dates.
Skimming the classifieds, I saw an ad I'd read a few times before about a ring that had been lost somewhere downtown between the movie theater and the stationary shop.
I frowned at the two -inch high article.
I didn't know who had posted it, who had been looking for that ring, but I hoped it would be found.
I read the description again, yellow gold, an emerald, a few small diamonds, a family heirloom.
I refolded the paper and stacked it neatly on the table and went to get my coat.
I stopped to look into the small room at the back of the house, whose floor to ceiling bookshelves were stuffed with novels and snow globes and picture frames.
On her bed on the window seat, my old gray kitty was curled up and watching the birds in their feeder in the backyard.
I rested my hand on her side and whispered that her bowl was full and that I'd be back in a bit.
I could feel the thrum of her purr through her soft fur.
She flicked her tail once and I leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She allowed it, then turned her green eyes back to the window.
I pulled on my coat and hat and stepped back out the front door, pulling it tightly behind me.
It wasn't bitter out, but it was cold and I was glad to find gloves in my pockets.
I went through my gate and turned on the sidewalk toward town.
The frost was thick, coating fence rails and mailboxes and planters.
At the green grocer on the corner, I stopped to look at the bins of Delacotta squash and long stalks of Brussels sprouts that were set out.
In a bushel barrel, propped by the door, where large pine cones scented with cinnamon heaped into a pyramid.
Across the street at the diner, the booths were full and I could see a waitress setting down a stack of pancakes in front of a smiling customer.
I walked further, feeling my body warming up with the exercise.
At the entrance to the park, I stopped at the kiosk and bought a coffee.
The man inside was well wrapped in a long scarf.
And as we chatted, he poured my cup and pointed to the small heater going at his feet.
The first morning I needed it, he said, handing the coffee over to me.
We told each other to stay warm, which is as common a greeting as good morning around here in the wintertime.
And I walked into the park and the sun was reflecting on the pond, which was still full of a paddling of ducks.
Most were out on the water, unbothered by the temperature, their bright orange feet pushing them around from one edge of the small lake to the other.
There were a few other people walking the paths, though almost no one was stopping to sit on a bench today.
Better to keep your blood pumping.
And past the lake, there is a broad, open meadow with just a few trees scattered around.
And sure enough, they looked like they were draped with clouds.
A thick, cold fog clung to their branches.
I sipped my coffee.
It was strong and almost bitter and delicious.
I walked closer to one of the trees.
I wanted to see up close what it would look like if, as usually happens, it would seem to disappear as I neared.
The grass around it was still white with frost and sparkling in the sun.
When I stepped to the base of the tree, I looked down rather than up as my shadow blocked the sun and saw among the white blades of grass a glint of green.
I wouldn't have seen it if the frost had not painted the landscape with ice.
I squatted down and brushed aside a few frost -covered leaves capping what seemed to be a squirrel's hidey hole.
Yellow gold. An emerald.
A few small diamonds.
A family heirloom. My smile was sudden and huge across my face as I reached down and dug out the ring.
I even forgot to look up and learn the secret of the fog as I carefully pocketed the precious thing on my way home to answer a classified ad.
Sweet dreams.
