Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn, when the weather has kept you inside — 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. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. 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. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let your breathing do the rest. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
You can stop listening properly. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are waiting for something — for the hours after a late shift, A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you have already had a long week — for a restless night or The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for an overtired night.