Sleep story · rain, green
Sleep story: a garden in the rain, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a racing mind
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
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
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let the mattress take all of it.
Let it all get further away. Just the weight.
Just the dark. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the dark be ordinary.
Nothing here needs following closely. Almost nothing to do now. Leave it there.
Choosing this over scrolling counts as a good decision, even a small one.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when the weather has kept you inside — for a racing mind, A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have been on screens all day — for a racing mind or A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have already had a long week — for jet lag.