Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you are cold and want to be warm — 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. 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.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
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.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Softer. Let them.
Let the dark be ordinary. Just the weight. Almost nothing to do now.
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.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you are not sure this will work — for a racing mind, A caravan by the sea, when you are not sure this will work — for winding down or A lighthouse at the end of a long day, after a difficult conversation — for the hours after a late shift.