Sleep story · rain, green
Sleep story: a garden in the rain, when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for a restless night
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular. The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your chest can be still now.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel your cheeks let go.
Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.
If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let the quiet be boring. Softer.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Just the breath. Nothing here needs following closely.
When concentration is gone, work with what is left.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.