Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you have been on screens all day — for a night when you do not want to think
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 mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let the quiet be boring.
Just the weight. Slower now. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.