Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn, when the weather has kept you inside — 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
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. 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.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the weight.
Sleep. Slower. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
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 caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you have just finished work — for a restless night, Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you need something unremarkable — for winding down or Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are sceptical about all of this — for winding down.