Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for a racing mind
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. 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.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Your chest can be still now. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Just the weight. Let the next part go past without you.
Sleep. Almost nothing to do now. Slower now.
Softer. They will find their own way out. Slower.
Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.