Sleep story · still, water

A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, before you go back to something hard — 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.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.

There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Let the mattress take all of it. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

Sleep. The words can start to blur now.

Let the dark be ordinary. Just the weight. You can stop listening properly.

Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.

12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.