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 waking too early
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 wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. 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.
Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
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 your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your hands be completely still.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the next part go past without you.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Just the weight. You can stop listening properly.
Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.