Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you have just finished work — for an overtired night
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. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Feel your cheeks let go. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
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 thumbs rest where they landed. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. They will find their own way out.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower. Slower now.
Let the quiet be boring. Let it all get further away. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a restless night, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when you are not in the mood — for a racing mind or A garden in the rain, when you need to stop thinking about work — for an overtired night.