Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you only have a few minutes — for winding down
One light turning, a kettle, and weather you are on the right side of.
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
A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it.
The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Slower now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the weight. You can stop listening properly.
A few minutes is the whole requirement.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are cold and want to be warm — for winding down, A lighthouse at the end of a long day, after a difficult conversation — for winding down or A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you have already had a long week — for jet lag.