Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn
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 water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
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.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your hands be completely still.
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.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Stay. Just the breath.
Let the dark be ordinary. Leave it there. Let the room get slightly further away.
They will find their own way out. Softer. Just the weight.
Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A kitchen late at night, when you feel restless rather than tired — for an overtired night, Sleep story: a field under snow, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for a restless night or A bus at night for an overtired night.