Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you feel restless rather than tired — for an overtired night
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. 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.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
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.
Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to. Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your ankles can go loose now.
Just the weight. Leave it there.
Slower. Sleep. Let the quiet be boring.
Restless is different from tired, and it needs a different approach.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.