Sleep story · rain, green
Sleep story: a garden in the rain, if you have done this a hundred times — for a night when you do not want to think
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
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the mattress take all of it.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Softer. Let your breathing do the rest. Nothing here needs following closely.
Just the breath. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Leave it there.
If you have done this a hundred times, change one small thing tonight.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain, when you have more time than usual — for winding down, A lake before dawn, when you have been putting it off — for a restless night or A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are tired of apps — for waking too early.