Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you want to finish something — for waking too early
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. 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 shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Leave it there. Let the dark be ordinary.
Slower. Stay. You can stop listening properly.
Wanting to finish something is a better motivation than wanting to relax.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.