Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor, when you need something unremarkable — for jet lag
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.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes.
Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel.
Let the mattress take all of it. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again.
Feel your wrists loosen. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let the dark be ordinary. Stay with the weight of your body.
Just the dark. You can stop listening properly. You do not have to count them.
Nothing dramatic happens here, and that is deliberate.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.