Sleep story · rain, green
Sleep story: a garden in the rain, when you are at home and cannot settle — 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 rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel your wrists loosen.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again.
Your chest can be still now. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Leave it there. Let them.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Nothing here needs following closely. Just the breath.
Just the weight. Let the room get slightly further away. Stay with the weight of your body.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.
If this story does not settle you, try A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are not in the mood — for a restless night, A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you have woken up too early — for a night when you do not want to think or The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for waking too early.