Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are at home and cannot settle — for a racing mind
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 rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Your chest can be still now. Your ankles can go loose now.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
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 lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
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 your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Stay with the weight of your body. Slower.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the breath. They will find their own way out.
Stay. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. You can stop listening properly.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for winding down, A lake before dawn, when you are on your own — for a restless night or A field under snow, when you are too tired to try hard — for an overtired night.