Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when you are somewhere noisy — for winding down
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.
Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Just the breath. Let it all get further away.
They will find their own way out. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the dark be ordinary.
Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.