Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn, when you have been meaning to start — 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
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. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. 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.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let your hands be completely still. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. They will find their own way out.
You do not have to count them. Just the weight. Stay.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the dark. Stay with the weight of your body.
You have been meaning to start. This is the least intimidating way in.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.