Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have woken up too early — for a night when you do not want to think
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 lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. 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 air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your cheeks let go.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Your chest can be still now. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Let the next part go past without you. Just the dark.
They will find their own way out. Let them. The words can start to blur now.
Sleep. Softer. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down, when the house is busy — for a restless night, Sleep story: a library at closing time, if you have five quiet minutes — for a racing mind or A garden in the rain (a sleep story), if you are tired of apps — for an overtired night.