Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you are cold and want to be warm — for the hours after a late shift
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
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 on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let it all get further away. Let your breathing do the rest.
Slower now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the dark be ordinary.
Just the weight. Let them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when the house is busy — for an overtired night, A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have woken up too early — for waking too early or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for jet lag.