Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for waking too early
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. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel your wrists loosen.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
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 toes stop holding on to anything. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your hands be completely still.
Slower now. Stay with the weight of your body.
Softer. Let your breathing do the rest. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let them. Stay.
Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere, when you are too tired to try hard — for the hours after a late shift, Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you are at home and cannot settle — for a racing mind or A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you want to be left alone — for waking too early.