Sleep story · sea, still

A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are not in the mood — for a restless night

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.

Read it myself

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. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass.

The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Your ankles can go loose now. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the mattress take all of it.

The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.

If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there. If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

They will find their own way out. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

Leave it there. Almost nothing to do now. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.