Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn for a racing mind
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
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
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let the mattress take all of it.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
You can stop listening properly. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Stay.
Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train for waking too early, A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for a restless night or A fire dying down for waking too early.