This is a slow, calm bedtime story for adults. Get comfortable, dim the lights and read it slowly, or ask someone to read it to you. There is nothing to remember and nowhere to get to. If you drift off before the end, that is exactly the point.
The Orchard at the End of the Lane
The lane is narrow and soft underfoot. It has rained a little in the afternoon, and now the air smells of wet leaves and cool earth. You walk slowly, because there is no reason to hurry.
On either side, the hedges are thick and dark. Here and there, a few late blackberries hang among the leaves. A robin sits on a low branch and watches you pass. It makes one small sound, then settles its feathers and stays still.
The sky is turning from pale gold to a deep, gentle blue. The light is leaving slowly, the way it always does in autumn. It does not rush. It fades a little at a time, as if it is getting ready for sleep too.
At the end of the lane there is a wooden gate. It is old and grey and smooth from many hands. You lift the latch, and it opens with a long, easy creak. Beyond it is the orchard.
Walking Between the Apple Trees
The apple trees stand in quiet rows. Their branches are low and wide, and they bend a little under the last of the fruit. Some apples are red, some are green with a blush of pink. A few have fallen into the long grass, and you can smell their sweetness in the cool air.
You walk along the path between the trees. The grass is damp and brushes softly against your ankles. Each step is slow and steady. Your shoulders drop a little. Your breathing slows to match your steps.
Breathe in through your nose. Notice the smell of apples and leaves. Breathe out, long and slow.
A small brown leaf lets go of its branch above you. It turns once, twice, three times in the still air, and lands on the path in front of you without a sound. Another follows it. Then the orchard is still again.
Further along, someone has hung small glass lanterns from the lowest branches. They are not lit yet. They sway very gently, though there is hardly any breeze at all. The glass catches the last of the blue light from the sky.
The Lanterns Begin to Glow
As you walk on, you notice that the lanterns are glowing now, one by one. Each one holds a small candle with a warm, golden flame. Nobody is lighting them. They simply seem to wake up as the evening deepens, the way stars appear when you are not quite looking.
The light from each lantern makes a soft circle on the grass. You walk from one circle of gold into the next, and then the next. Between them, the shadows are cool and blue and kind.
There is no sound except the hush of your feet on the grass and, very far away, the quiet call of a tawny owl. It calls once, then waits. It calls again, softer this time. Then the night is quiet once more.
You notice how heavy your arms feel. How warm your hands are inside your sleeves. How easy it is, here, to simply walk and breathe and do nothing else.
The Little Cottage
At the far side of the orchard, beneath the oldest apple tree, there is a small stone cottage. It has a low roof, a round window and a green front door. A thin line of smoke rises from the chimney and drifts slowly up into the evening.
The door is not locked. It never is. You push it open, and warmth spills out to meet you.
Inside, there is one room. A small wood stove glows in the corner, its little window full of orange light. The logs inside crackle and settle. There is a rag rug on the floor, soft and thick, in faded shades of red and cream. There is a deep armchair with a blanket folded over one arm. And there is a bed under the round window, made up with clean, cool sheets and a heavy quilt.
You close the door behind you. The latch clicks softly. The outside world stays outside.
A Warm Cup by the Stove
On the stove, a small copper pan of milk is warming. You pour it into a thick clay mug and add a spoonful of honey. You stir it slowly and watch the honey turn in little golden ribbons until it disappears.
You sit in the armchair and pull the blanket over your knees. The mug is warm in your hands. You hold it close and feel the heat move into your fingers, then your wrists, then up into your arms.
You take a small sip. It is sweet and gentle and just the right warmth. You set the mug down on the little table beside you.
The stove ticks quietly as it heats. A log shifts and sends up a few small sparks behind the glass. Then it settles again, glowing deeper and slower.
Breathe in, slowly, through your nose. Hold it for a moment. And let it go.
The Rain Begins
Outside, a light rain begins to fall. You hear it first on the roof, a soft pattering, like fingertips tapping very gently on a table. Then you hear it on the leaves of the apple trees, a steady, whispering hush.
Through the round window, you can still see the lanterns glowing in the orchard. Their light looks softer now, a little blurred by the rain on the glass. Drops gather at the top of the window and slide slowly down, joining together as they go.
You are warm. You are dry. There is nothing you need to do tonight. Everything that needed doing has been done, or it can wait until morning. The rain will look after the orchard. The stove will look after the room.
Let your eyes rest on the glow of the stove for a while. Notice how the light moves, never quite the same from one moment to the next. Orange, then gold, then a deep, sleepy red.
Getting Ready for Sleep
After a while, you notice that your eyelids feel heavy. You fold the blanket and lay it back over the arm of the chair. You rinse the mug and leave it upside down by the little sink.
You walk across the soft rug to the bed under the window. You pull back the heavy quilt. The sheets are cool and smooth and smell faintly of lavender and fresh air.
You slip into bed and pull the quilt up to your shoulders. It is heavy in the nicest way, pressing you gently down into the mattress. Your head sinks into the pillow. Your whole body grows a little warmer, a little heavier, a little more still.
The rain keeps falling, steady and soft. The stove glows low in the corner. Outside the window, the lanterns in the orchard begin to dim, one by one, as if they too are going to sleep.
Drifting Off
Let your breath be slow and easy. In through your nose. Out, long and soft.
Feel your feet grow heavy and warm. Then your legs. Then your hips and your back, sinking into the bed. Your hands are loose. Your shoulders are soft. Your jaw lets go. Even the little muscles around your eyes begin to rest.
Somewhere far off, the tawny owl calls once more. Then it, too, falls quiet.
The last lantern in the orchard glows for a moment longer. Then it fades to a small warm spark, and then to nothing at all. All that is left is the dark, the warmth, the quiet and the rain.
You do not need to think about anything. You do not need to hold on to anything. The orchard is sleeping. The cottage is sleeping. And now, slowly, gently, so are you.
Rest now.
Sleep well.
Two Gentle Wind-Down Tips for Tonight
If you are still awake, that is fine. Here are two simple ideas from the NHS Every Mind Matters sleep guide:
- Put screens away for an hour before bed. The NHS suggests not using phones, tablets or computers for an hour before bed, and reading something you enjoy instead. A calm story like this one is a good swap.
- Do not force it. If you are lying awake, the NHS suggests getting up after about 20 minutes, doing something calm somewhere comfortable, and going back to bed when you feel sleepy.
For more ideas, read our guide on how to relax before sleep or our sleep hygiene tips that actually make a difference. And if you like a quiet, closed-mouth night of nose breathing like the one in this story, you can find out more about DELIM mouth tape here. If you have breathing problems, sleep apnoea or a blocked nose, please speak to your GP before trying mouth tape.
This story is for relaxation only and is not medical advice. If you often struggle to sleep, please speak to your GP. Written by the DELIM team, a UK sleep wellness brand.
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