Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not sure this will work — 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
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Your chest can be still now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
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.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Feel your wrists loosen. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let it all get further away.
You can stop listening properly. Nothing here needs following closely. Stay.
Softer. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Not being sure it will work is a perfectly good reason to try it once.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are too tired to try hard — for a night when you do not want to think, A library at closing time, when you have more time than usual — for winding down or Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for jet lag.