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 winding down
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 mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. 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. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Your chest can be still now.
They will find their own way out. Slower now.
Let the quiet be boring. The words can start to blur now. You can stop listening properly.
Sleep. Slower. Let the room get slightly further away.
Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor (a sleep story), before something difficult — for winding down, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, before you go back to something hard — for a restless night or A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for winding down.