Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you are cold and want to be warm — 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
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let your hands be completely still. Your chest can be still now.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
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 calves spread out and flatten. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Let your breathing do the rest. Just the weight.
Let it all get further away. Almost nothing to do now. Let the quiet be boring.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the dark. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.