Hello everyone, this is Rhea with a quick note. This is a full episode preview of a story featured on Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive bedtime podcast just for my Little Stories premium subscribers. The episode I'm sharing with you today is part of a series I'm calling Wandering Sleep Stories. These new stories are peaceful, calming, and perfect for that last track on a bedtime playlist. On Little Stories for Sleep, wandering sleep stories have no intro or outro. It's just the story framed by soft music. Now grab your weighted blanket, snuggle up, and fall asleep to this sweet tale. The story is about a girl who is in her room, and she is in her room, and she is in her room. Floreta Bear rummaged in her closet, muttering softly to herself. Now where did I put it? She had a beautifully organized closet, with stacks of carefully arranged bins filled with knitting yarn, sewing patterns, pine cones. They were excellent for craft projects, pressed flowers, scarves, extra blankets, and numerous other items she had squirreled away for safekeeping. All of it stored neatly with labels. But there were many bins, and the closet was dark, and the flickering light from Floreta's candle was small, and a number of minutes of rummaging passed before she muttered, ah, there it is, I knew it was here. Floreta picked up the narrow wooden box, and carried it to her armchair by the fireplace. Just that morning, the air had taken on a new chill, and she had built the first fire of the season, which now crackled pleasantly, warming her feet. Floreta took a moment to run her paws over the fine grain wood of the box. She had found it at an antique market. She loved antique markets, and had to have it, partly because of the charm of the box itself, but more so for what it contained. Floreta cracked open the lid of the box, then let it fall shut. I must think first, she whispered to herself, so she sat still in her armchair, beside the crackling fire, and drew up a plan in her mind. Three per day should be enough, I'll start with Bernice, yes, then Claude. Gertrude next, Floreta smiled to herself, it can be wonderful to have a plan. She opened the wooden box. She always got a bit of a delighted thrill, looking at her beautiful stationery. The papers were lined, and had a charming border adorned with dainty printed The pages were crisp, untouched, and there were enough of them to get through all the letter writing she needed to do, if she was not overly wordy, and she never was. Beside Floreta's armchair, the fire sent off tiny sparkles. She was far enough away from the entrance of her den, that she had little sense of the weather. Yesterday was rainy and grey, she had spent the day foraging, but the forest had that picked clean look that told her winter was near. The sky had been a woolly white, almost tricking her, making her think snowflakes could appear at any moment. Not yet, but soon, Floreta sighed softly, with drew her favourite pen from her vest pocket, and began, putting words to paper. Dear Bernice, first of all, thank you for the beautiful quilt. You've outdone yourself with the intricate design, and I will no doubt be warm beneath it all winter long. Please take care of yourself during the cold months, and tell the other owls, I'll be bringing a fresh batch of ant biscuits to our first game night in spring. Dear Claude, I do hope this letter finds you in good health and good cheer. Please forgive my hasty exit the other evening. The cold weather has given me such sniffles these days, the party was a treat, and I know everyone appreciated your efforts. Save a seat for me at your annual spring picnic. I have every intention to wake up for it this year. I'm enclosing a packet of strawberry seeds I collected in July. I trust you will be a better stored of them than would I. Best wishes to you as you finish your winter nests. Dearest, Cure Trude, I am sad to say I will have to miss the next several knitting circles. I thought I might be there this month, but the cold season has crept up on me, as it seems to every year. Wishful thinking, I suppose. I was so looking forward to hearing an update on Geraldine's squirrel problem. I do hope her scheme was successful. Please do me the favor of sharing the enclosed note with the rest of the group. I hope it gives them a laugh. Till the days lengthen once again, Floreta Espar. She set down her pen on the small end table beside her armchair, yawned heavily, and opened and closed her paw several times to stretch it. Then, she folded the letters twice each and tucked them into matching envelopes. Next, she addressed them in careful script. Wilson, the crow who delivered her mail, wore thick glasses and still spent a great deal of time squinting. Once the envelopes were ready, Floreta headed outside. It was her first time out of the den for several hours since she had gone eating that morning, but it felt like it had been days. There was a deeper chill in the air. Yes, she was certain the temperature had taken a tumble since that morning. It was not just the fact that she'd spent the day warmed by the fire. There had been a true shift in the seasons in a matter of hours. Floreta's mailbox was located in the lower third of an enormous blue spruce about a minute's walk from her den. It felt like a long minute as the wind was so powerful, so blustery, she had to fight against it to take each step. Above, the sky was from yesterday. The sun was in hiding, nowhere to be seen. When Floreta reached the towering spruce, it felt like reaching the summit of a craggy mountain. The wooden mailbox had a compartment for incoming mail and a slot for outgoing. Floreta pushed her three letters into the slot, listening for the pleasant little thunks as they hit the bottom. Then she checked to see if she'd received anything new since yesterday. There were several letters in the box, but none of them were for her. It was a community mailbox. Floreta shared it with Edgar and Ethel, a pair of sweet bears who often received homemade cards from their grand cubs and old Mr. Barely, who exchanged letters with a penpal many forests away. But behind the letters, Floreta spied a small package with her name on it. Oh, she smiled as she withdrew the parcel. She knew what it was without opening it. The aroma was incredible. Floreta shut the mailbox and hurried through the chili forest to the warmth of her den. Sardines, Floreta exclaimed, smiling down at the opened package. I knew it was sardines. My favorite. The card revealed it was her cousin Sandy who had sent the gift. Dried sardines for my dear cousin. I've always found them to be the perfect treat for when I wake up hungry now and then during the winter sleep. Floreta had to stop herself from eating them all then and there. Instead, she put them in the pantry alongside some jars of mulberry jam, yawning all the while and shuffled off to bed. The next day, Floreta spent the morning foraging for food in the forest. But the woods had been ransacked. There was barely anything left to eat. She spent the afternoon writing more letters. The first was addressed, of course, to Sandy thanking her for the delightful treat. She composed a second letter to Oliver Toad. Dear Oliver, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I passed by your log the other afternoon as I was searching for my favorite mushrooms. But you must have been out. Down by the river, I trust. I'm writing because you won't see me for a spell. Longer, if I'm honest. I thought I had another week in me, at least, and I had planned to make the rounds once more. I'd been especially hoping to run into you to let us catch up. I have many strong opinions about the book you gave me last month, for instance. But it will have to wait until spring, by which time my opinions will have dulled or be forgotten altogether. Alas, I do not control the seasons. Send my regards to Petunia and the children. Sincerely, Floreta. Floreta set down her pen and stretched out her paw, which was somehow tight and achy after just two letters. She had hoped to get in one more, but she was heavy with exhaustion. Floreta leaned back in her armchair and yawned. A bitter chill drifted in from the opening of her den, and she felt a strong urge to find a blanket, but there were two unscent letters in her lap. The walk to the mailbox felt even longer than it did yesterday. Floreta shivered the whole way. The trees in the forest looked spindly and barren, with only the most stubborn of leaves remaining on the branches. The blue spruce appeared tall and foreboding when Floreta finally reached it. She pushed her letters into the slot and smiled at the little cuthunks. She checked the compartment, two adorable homemade cards addressed to Granny and Pop Bear. Nothing more. Floreta closed the mailbox and headed home through the chilly forest. She put her nose to the breeze. Smells like snow, she whispered. In the morning, Floreta ventured outside for mere minutes before turning around and retreating to the warmth of her den. She spent the brief sunlit hours near the opening of her cave beneath a blanket, sipping hot tea, observing the hushed forest. Afternoon, the sky turned gray and Floreta moved to her armchair and said about to write three final but she did not even get through one. Sleep, the great winter sleep, crept up on her as it did every year. Floreta Bear fell asleep in her armchair with her stationary on her lap as the first snowflakes fell on the winter woods outside. This has been a special full episode preview of a wandering sleep story. To hear more wandering sleep stories you can join Little Stories Premium by visiting littlestoriespremium.com and thank you as always for listening in.
