Sleep story · still, water
Sleep story: a lake before dawn, after eating too much — for a restless night
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
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 mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Just the dark. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Sleep. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the next part go past without you.
Let them. Let it all get further away. Slower now.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere, on a day that started badly — for waking too early, Sleep story: a bus at night, if you are tired of apps — for a restless night or Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, before something difficult — for the hours after a late shift.