Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when your attention is scattered — for jet lag
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
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let the mattress take all of it.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
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.
If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
They will find their own way out. You do not have to count them.
Just the dark. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Stay.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let them. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for winding down, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for a restless night or A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have been on screens all day — for an overtired night.