Sleep story · water, slow

A boat at anchor, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a night when you do not want to think

A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.

Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table.

The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves. The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.

If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.

Let your hands be completely still. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Just the dark. Let the dark be ordinary.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let your breathing do the rest. Let the quiet be boring.

Midday is an underrated time for this.

Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.