Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for winding down
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. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let the mattress take all of it.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let them.
You do not have to count them. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the dark.
The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.