Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have five quiet minutes — for the hours after a late shift
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. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
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 a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
They will find their own way out. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let them. Nothing here needs following closely.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a bus at night, when you have woken up too early — for a racing mind, A boat at anchor, when you have tried everything else — for jet lag or A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when the weather has kept you inside — for winding down.