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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy.
My name's Thomas and I so appreciate you being here.
Tonight's story is a special request from one of our listeners who wanted her mum to have something to listen to, with a bit of a personal touch, while she recovers from surgery.
Thank you for this story, my dear, and we wish you both the best.
Many of our episodes are inspired from your initial ideas, so please do continue to send them our way if there are any themes or storylines you'd like to hear on the show.
The best way to do that is by going to our contact page at getsleepy.com.
Shortly we'll be going on a magical adventure with a woman named Bella.
One evening, she's transported into the pages of her sketchbook, where she finds wonders and delights beyond even her own wildest dreams.
Thank you to our wonderful head writer and editor, Shady Grove, for writing this one, which I have the pleasure of reading for you.
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There's plenty to enjoy in return for your support of the ongoing production of this show.
Plus, every single Thursday, we release a brand new bonus episode.
Tomorrow we'll travel back in time to 18th century Paris, and Vanessa will tell us a charming story about a woman who runs a bakery in the French capital.
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Thank you so much, my friends.
Now then, let's take some time to get settled.
Nestle into bed or wherever you are and make sure you're nice and comfortable.
This time is for relaxation and comfort.
So ensuring your space is set up to your liking is all part of that.
Now, close your eyes.
And I want you to scan your body from head to toe.
Noticing any areas that might be drawing your attention, either from discomfort or just the need to stretch or move.
If moving slightly would make you feel better, you can do that at any time.
Otherwise, acknowledge any areas of discomfort without judgment.
And then move on, continuing your scan until you've covered every part of your body.
Your body has carried you through the day, regardless of how much you've done or where you've been.
In your mind.
Send a quiet thank you to your body, acknowledging it for all that it does and then allowing it permission to rest.
When you're finished, turn your thoughts to a beautiful windswept beach.
In the distance you see a small house and a little beach hut down by the shore.
Waves crash on the sand and seagulls call to one another overhead.
This is where our story begins.
The distant sound of crashing waves floats in through the open window.
Bella sits at the kitchen table, idly stirring a cup of lukewarm tea.
She feels the cool, familiar metal of the tiny spoon between her fingertips.
She rubs her thumb against the handle absentmindedly.
It is smooth and satisfying to the touch.
Bella is lost in thought, her mind wandering through daydreams.
In her mind's eye she sees a beautiful garden with a gently trickling fountain, light glinting off each drop of water.
She sees tall stone ruins hidden amongst a tangle of green plants and vines, in a dense jungle and a peaceful winter forest where the crunch of snow can be heard beneath delicate footfalls.
And then the sound of the ocean waves draws her attention out of her reverie back to the kitchen and her long-forgotten cup of tea.
Bella smiles, letting the small spoon come to rest against the side of the teacup.
She was daydreaming about some of her favorite drawings in her sketchbook a combination of imaginary places she created in her mind and precise renderings of objects and spaces in the natural world.
It's been a while since Bella last opened her sketchbook.
Life happens and before you know it, hobbies and passions you once had have been left to one side for longer than you ever intended.
Looking out the window, Bella sees a few wispy clouds drift across the midday blue of the sky.
There's no time like the present, she thinks to herself.
She picks up the teacup and carries it over to the kitchen sink.
Carefully, she washes the cup and the spoon and leaves them to dry on a nearby rack.
Then, she makes her way into the bedroom.
There's a small nightstand beside the bed where she keeps books and other objects that are precious to her.
Her sketchbook is nestled beneath the drawer in a tall, open space.
She pulls it out and gently runs her hands across the cover.
It feels comforting and familiar, like an old friend.
Opening it, she recalls how the pages are slightly textured, not smooth like writing paper.
It's a concertina sketchbook, so it opens like an accordion, each page connected to the next.
Inside, she finds images that she recognizes.
She drew them, of course.
And yet, like all creations from long ago, they also seem to have come from someone else.
A different version of herself, perhaps, who inhabited that space and time.
She searches for the pictures she'd been thinking about earlier, the ones that drifted through her mind as she stirred her cup of tea.
The first one she comes across is the drawing of the tranquil spring garden in full bloom.
She took inspiration from her very own garden for that picture, sitting on a blanket on the grass while nearby bees and grasshoppers went about their business.
Next, she spots the ancient ruins nestled deep in a mysterious jungle.
She drew them after watching one of her favorite films where treasure hunters go on a grand adventure in search of lost gold.
She's never seen a jungle or rainforest in real life, but she can imagine how it might feel to stand amongst the ancient trees, the hum of insects all around.
And finally, she sees the page with the drawing of the winter forest.
This is one of her favorites.
Tucked away in the very corner of the image is a single tree with the most beautiful and intricate festive decorations on it, and a star on top.
She doesn't know exactly why she decided to put a Christmas tree in an otherwise true-to-life nature sketch.
The only reason she can think of is that she just loves Christmas.
And it's her sketchbook after all, so what better place to add a touch of magic.
She softly closes the concertina book, delighting in the hollow, rippling noise the pages make as they fold in on themselves.
Then Bella tucks the sketchbook under her arm, pulls out her box of pencils and charcoal and returns to the kitchen.
She sets the supplies down on the table and slips a light sweater over her head.
It's always a little cooler down by the water, especially when she stays in one position to sketch.
Bella walks over to her electric kettle and boils some water.
She'll prepare a thermos of tea to take down to the beach with her.
She puts a few tea bags into the metal canister and then pours the hot water on top.
With the rising steam comes the soft and floral fragrance of the tea.
It is so warm and comforting, and leaves the tiniest hint of dampness on her face.
Bella twists on the lid of the thermos, collects her sketchbook and drawing implements from the table and heads out the door.
She doesn't bother to put shoes on as it's just a quick walk through the sand to her little beach hut.
Bella loves the way the warm sand feels beneath her feet.
It presses up between her toes with every footstep and curves to fit the shape of her soles and heels.
Down closer to the tide line, the sand becomes cooler, especially where it's been washed by the waves.
She also enjoys walking along the compacted, waterlogged sand, always trying to stay one step ahead of the incoming tide.
But she'll stop before she reaches the water today.
Her little beach hut is tucked up against a berm of sand, where beach grasses grow beside tangles of seaweed left by a long-ago storm.
It's small and private, Just enough space for a table, a chair, and a few odds and ends.
There's an easel, some shells collected during beach walks through the decades and even a few aesthetic pieces of driftwood.
She uses one of the larger pieces of wood to prop open the door of the beach hut when the weather is nice, as it is today.
That way she can feel the sea breeze on her skin and hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves as she reads a novel, sips a drink or sketches, though she hasn't sketched much in recent years.
Every so often her concertina sketchbook pops into her mind and she thinks it's about time I picked that up again.
But then the thought leaves as quickly as it came.
It brings a smile to Bella's face to feel the sketchbook tucked under her arm now.
She truly loves making art.
It's a passion that adds a spark to her life and frees her imagination to wander where it wants.
She squeezes her arm down a bit, as though letting the sketchbook know that she's thinking about it.
When she reaches her beach hat, she pushes down on the handle and swings the door open.
It's exactly as she left it, with a pair of slippers by the table.
They'll keep her feet nice and cozy as evening approaches.
Using her foot, she nudges the piece of driftwood in front of the door.
It moves easily across the floor without scuffing it.
Satisfied that the door will stay open, Bella moves to the table and sets down her thermos sketchbook pencils and charcoal.
She unscrews the lid of the thermos and places it top down on the table.
The lid will serve as a small cup. and Bella pours some of the steaming tea into it.
The floral aroma of the tea quickly fills the compact beach hut and Bella takes a deep, welcoming breath.
Her entire body seems to exhale at once all the tension and stress she's been carrying, melting away with the scent of the tea.
She's so glad that she decided to come down to the beach hut today, she thinks.
What a lovely break from her regular routine, and a chance to be creative.
Bella makes her way over to her comfy chair, which is perfectly situated by a large window and the open door, providing a picturesque view of the ocean.
She sets her tea down on a short stool beside the chair, which already has an eclectic assortment of coasters stacked on top.
Beside the stool is a sturdy, yet lightweight board.
She uses this as a sort of desk for sketching in the chair.
She places it in her lap and opens the sketchbook on top of it.
Then she chooses the right pencil for today.
Lightly grasping it between her fingers, she glances idly out the open door.
The sea breeze blows in gently, rustling her papers and tickling her cheeks.
It carries the briny scent of the sea, as well as the deeper, earthier aroma of warm sand.
Bella unfurls the sketchbook, her fingers lightly grazing the paper above the image of the fountain in the garden.
She closes her eyes for just a moment.
Somewhere in the background.
From the darkness behind her eyelids, she hears the twittering sparrows and other small birds.
The luscious and heady perfume of roses in full bloom fills her nose.
With her eyes closed, she reaches one hand down and feels the bristly texture of grass beneath her fingertips.
Bella opens her eyes.
Before her, in all directions, is a beautiful garden, more lush and verdant than any she's ever seen before.
Rose bushes tangle with hydrangeas.
Daffodils and birds of paradise stand side by side with lavender and sagebrush.
Tulips, jasmine, forget-me-nots.
And in the middle of it all, a quietly burbling fountain.
The gentle splashing of the water sends a light spray into the air.
The water droplets glisten in the sunlight, filtering through the leaves of countless shady trees.
A monarch butterfly beats its large wings up and down, fluttering majestically through the air in front of her.
It comes to land on one particularly large bloom, and Bella is speechless.
This is a garden like no other, she thinks, a lush paradise of dreams.
She recognizes all the plants and flowers, the trees and even the shape of the grassy area in the center where she's sitting.
She's seen every element of this garden before, but never all of them together in one place, in perfect harmony.
Perhaps it is a dream, she wonders.
Maybe she fell asleep in the chair by the open door of her beach hut.
Bella runs her fingers through the thick carpet of grass.
She can feel every blade against her skin, sturdy, fibrous, yet surprisingly soft.
If this is a dream, it's the most lifelike one I've ever had, she thinks quietly.
She can feel everything, smell everything, hear everything in perfect detail.
And then, she notices something else under her fingertips.
Glancing down, she sees the sketchbook lying on the grass.
She lifts the cover, expanding the pages, and runs her fingers over the ancient ruins.
In the blink of an eye, soft decaying branches appear where the grass had just been.
The rose, bushes and shady trees have been replaced by dense waxy foliage and the tall twisting trunks of rainforest trees.
Some of their leaves are nearly as large as Bella herself.
The air is thick and humid, and Bella feels the prickling of heat on her skin.
The light twittering birdsong is gone.
And in its place are the long, deep chortling calls of tropical birds that reverberate through the trees, and the constant hum of insects hidden in the greenery.
Bella has never been to a rainforest before.
But now, she stands in awe at the diversity of plants and flowers all around her.
She's never seen leaves so big flowers so brightly colored, or heard birdsong that echoes so profoundly through the trees.
The scents here are different too, earthier and deeper, more complex.
There's a pervasive dampness, mixed with the smell of decomposing plants, the scent of freshly turned wet earth and the sappy sweetness of the tropical flowers.
Bella stands, pushing the hanging leaves of a plant away from her face.
Carefully she picks her way through the dense undergrowth, stopping only to smell the wide-open blooms that grace her path.
She ducks beneath leaves and steps over fallen logs, weaving in and out of the thick foliage.
Until eventually, she comes to a place that she's only seen in dreams.
The ancient ruins.
Enormous carved stone blocks are stacked one on top of the other, forming the rough shape of a pyramid.
Tangled vines creep up the face of the stone, sending trailing, snaking tendrils back down towards the ground.
It's the most incredible sight Bella has ever seen.
This is the kind of place where adventures begin, she whispers to no one in particular.
Just then, she notices something tucked in between two large blocks of stone.
A small object, flat and hard.
How odd, Bella thinks.
It's the sketchbook, and definitely not where she left it.
She picks it up and holds it in the palm of her hand.
Then she opens it and quietly traces the outline of one of the trees in the winter forest.
A speck of something cold and white lands on Bella's cheek.
She reaches up a hand to brush it away and catches a single snowflake on her fingertip.
Glancing up towards the sky, she sees that the thick, uneven canopy of the jungle has disappeared.
In its place are the bristly branches of tall stately evergreens stretching out to fill the spaces between the trees.
Large wet snowflakes fall from heavy clouds.
She watches several flakes get closer and closer as they fall towards her face.
She reaches out her hands, catching a few in her palms.
The cold snow feels refreshing against her skin which no longer senses the prickle of ever-present heat.
The earthy aroma of the rainforest has transformed into the clean, crisp scent of pine and ice.
Bella stretches out her arms and does something that she hasn't done for years and years.
She twirls in the falling snow.
Bella smiles from ear to ear, feeling unburdened and free.
Somehow, she knows in her very bones that this isn't just any forest.
It is her forest.
The one she added a touch of magic to in her sketchbook all those years ago.
She doesn't know why she chooses to walk in one particular direction, other than it's the way she knows she must go.
With every step, her boots crunch in the snow.
She was barefoot on the beach.
But now she's dressed warmly enough to explore this cold and quiet landscape.
Her boots push through the snow, the flakes falling on her arms and shoulders.
And every so often, there's the distant thud of a heavy clump of snow falling from a tree branch.
Bella walks through the forest, turning this way and that, feeling the freshness of the winter air in her lungs.
And soon she comes to a silent glade.
There, in the middle, is the special tree.
Her tree.
Twinkling fairy lights are strung across every branch, reflecting white and silver on the snow-covered limbs.
Strings of bright red cranberries interlace with strings of beige popcorn.
A cardinal has landed on the festive tree and is idly picking at a berry.
Bella is glad to see the animals here are enjoying her tree as much as she is, albeit in a slightly different way.
A raven soars down into the glade and hops towards the trunk, carrying something shiny in its beak.
A small metal bauble that it places on a low branch.
And on the very top of this magical tree shines a beautiful yellow star.
It glimmers in the growing twilight like a beacon in the forest.
It seems to say to one and all, this way lies magic.
Bella takes one last look at the shimmering tree in the peaceful glade, at the cardinal and raven and the softly falling snow.
Then she closes her eyes and finds herself back in the beach hut, her hand resting on the concertina sketchbook in her lap.
What a wonderful adventure, she thinks, and a wonderful gift.
She loves her garden, her sense of adventure and even the quiet beauty of a winter forest, with a bit of holiday cheer.
They are all simple pleasures, but they are hers, just like her art and her beloved sketchbook.
Bella pats the little book on its cover and leans back in her chair, closing her eyes.
The salty breeze drifts through the open door.
Waves crash rhythmically against the shore. and the sun sets on the vast, endless sea.
Thank you.
Oh, my God.
Thank you.
Thank you.
¶¶
We'll be right back.
