Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, if you are tired of apps — for a night when you do not want to think
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
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. 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. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel your cheeks let go.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
They will find their own way out. Let it all get further away. Almost nothing to do now.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.