Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you want to finish something — for a restless night
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Your chest can be still now. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
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.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Slower now. Let the next part go past without you.
Let the quiet be boring. Let them. Leave it there.
Wanting to finish something is a better motivation than wanting to relax.
Let everything get quiet, including this.