Sleep story · still, water
Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you have already had a long week — for an overtired 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
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Let it all get further away. Leave it there.
You do not have to count them. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the dark be ordinary.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for still, water.
If this story does not settle you, try A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are at home and cannot settle — for the hours after a late shift, A boat at anchor (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for an overtired night or Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you need something unremarkable — for a night when you do not want to think.