Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for a restless night
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 far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. 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. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your palms open if they were closed.
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.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Your chest can be still now. Your ankles can go loose now.
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.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel your cheeks let go.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Slower. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Stay. Just the breath. Leave it there.
Just the dark. You do not have to count them. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when you have more time than usual — for a restless night, A lake before dawn, when the weather has kept you inside — for a night when you do not want to think or A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have more time than usual — for a racing mind.