Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, after a long day — for the hours after a late shift
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 watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your hands be completely still.
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.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Let the room get slightly further away. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Softer. Leave it there. You can stop listening properly.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.
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 lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you need something unremarkable — for a restless night, Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you have tried everything else — for a racing mind or An attic room, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a restless night.