Sleep story · still, water
Sleep story: a lake before dawn, after eating too much — for jet lag
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 sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your hands be completely still.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Your chest can be still now.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the mattress take all of it.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your ankles can go loose now.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Just the breath. Let the room get slightly further away.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let the next part go past without you. The words can start to blur now.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Sleep. Softer.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not in the mood — for jet lag, A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when you are somewhere noisy — for a night when you do not want to think or A library at closing time, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for an overtired night.