Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want to be left alone — 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
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. 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.
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. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let the mattress take all of it.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your cheeks let go.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let the next part go past without you. Just the weight.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Slower now.
Just the dark. Stay. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Nothing here asks anything of you socially.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.