Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you need something unremarkable — for jet lag
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
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your hands be completely still.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your chest can be still now.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The words can start to blur now. You can stop listening properly.
Let your breathing do the rest. Sleep. Just the breath.
Nothing dramatic happens here, and that is deliberate.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — for waking too early, Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have tried everything else — for the hours after a late shift or An attic room (a sleep story), if you have done this a hundred times — for an overtired night.