A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when you

The story, in full

Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.

The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your hands be completely still.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your cheeks let go.

A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.

If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Almost nothing to do now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Let the quiet be boring. Stay. Just the weight.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower. Let the room get slightly further away.

This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.