Sleep story · water, slow
Sleep story: a boat at anchor, if you have five quiet minutes — for a night when you do not want to think
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
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
Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes.
Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Just the dark. Almost nothing to do now.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You do not have to count them. Softer.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
The end. Sleep well.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try An attic room, when you have been putting it off — for winding down, A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are on your own — for jet lag or Sleep story: the night train, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for the hours after a late shift.