Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want something simple — for the hours after a late shift
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. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
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.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
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.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.
Let the mattress take all of it. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Sleep. Let the room get slightly further away.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let it all get further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
They will find their own way out. Let the quiet be boring. Softer.
Simple is the point. There is no advanced version to graduate to.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.