Sleep story · rain, green

A garden in the rain, when you want to finish something — for jet lag

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.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. 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.

Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

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.

Feel your wrists loosen. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.

If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let them. Let the next part go past without you.

Let the dark be ordinary. Sleep. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Wanting to finish something is a better motivation than wanting to relax.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.