Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when the house is busy — for a restless night
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
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
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel your cheeks let go.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Let it all get further away. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let your breathing do the rest. You can stop listening properly. The words can start to blur now.
Softer. Stay. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
It works with other people in the house. You do not need silence.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a night when you do not want to think, A garden in the rain (a sleep story), on a day that started badly — for an overtired night or A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want to be left alone — for a racing mind.