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Subscribe now. If you're hearing this, it means you've already made sleep a priority.
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A recent study found that people fell asleep 28% faster and had 37% better sleep quality using Moonbird daily.
If you're ready to take your bedtime ritual even further, you can get 15% off at moonbird.life slash nothingmuchappens We'll have that in our show notes. moonbird.life slash nothingmuchappens Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone. in which nothing much happens.
You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you'll hear. and nothing much happens.
Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.
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The first month is on us. Now. this process. of listening to a bedtime story to wind down and fall asleep.
It works by giving your brain a small job to do.
Your brain needs a bit of gentle engagement. to move out of default mode. and into task positive mode, where sleep is possible.
All you need to do is listen. With time and regular use, the conditioned effect will become more and more reliable.
I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn an episode back on.
Our story tonight is called New Path. And it's a story about a late summer stroll. through high grasses and shaded glens.
It's also about coneflowers and crushed stone. lifting the hair from the back of your neck to feel the breeze.
An eagle's nest lined with moss. A cool creek to wash your hands in. and feeling welcomed and at home in the wild.
So lights out, devices down. Find your favorite sleeping position and snuggle into it.
The day is over now. Whatever happened is what happened.
And now we are here, with nothing to do but rest.
Draw a deep breath in through your nose. and sigh it out.
Nice. Again, breathe in and let it go. Good.
New Path I wasn't sure I had the energy today.
We were at the tail end of summer, and the heat was wearing me down.
The wide open sky, as beautiful and blue as she was, felt overexposed and bleached out. and I almost ended my walk as soon as I'd started it.
But then I saw a post at the corner. the one across from the coffee cart on the south side of town. a post with a small sign beside a gravel path.
And my curiosity got the better of me. What does that sign say?
Where does that path go? A million adventures have started this way. so I turned my weary feet toward it. and shaded my eyes with my hand to read.
It was just a marker with an arrow pointing down the trail.
Garden Path 1, it said. Well, that begged the question. what would I find at Garden Path 2?
And off I went. down a small hill, and curving to the left.
I followed along at a slow ambling pace.
I kept to one edge of the path. where there was a bit of shade from a line of long, Slim-trunked redbud trees.
Their heart-shaped leaves were still deep green.
And I wanted to come back in a month to see them then. on a breezy, crisp day, when the cicadas had quieted down. and the air smelled of dry grass.
All around me were wild, growing switchgrass and purple coneflowers.
The milkweed had begun to dry and crack open. and the thin flowers of the coreopsis waved in the wind. that was barely there.
Every so often, I came upon another post. marking garden paths two, three, and four.
I like that they called what grew wild. a native to the soil, a garden. and that while the signs didn't give much in the way of information, They did reassure me, but I was going the right way.
I was still on the path. The path curved now to the right. and climbed slowly up toward a line of thick woods.
I always like this moment. Not that it's one you get every day.
Out on a walk somewhere you haven't been before. when you can't, from where you stand. quite make out where the path is taking you.
What lies ahead? Was I headed into the woods?
Or would it skirt the tree line and take me into a neighborhood? or even a dead end, where I'd have nothing to do. but turn about and retrace my steps.
I could feel the heat on the back of my neck. as I made my way up the rise.
My hair had come loose. And I caught it up, twisting it into a knot. and clipping it in place on top of my head.
The sudden coolness on my shoulders felt good. a boost to make it the last few paces to the top.
Another post and sign. Another arrow. Forest One.
Ah. So I was headed in, under a canopy of a million leaves. where the sound of chirping bugs suddenly disappeared.
And I only heard my footsteps. Now on woodchips. rather than crushed stone.
The smell of cedar and pine rushed at me.
And I thought of all the sap and needles. cones and seed pods, quietly working through This shady network. dispersing and protecting genes and chromosomes. drinking from the soil and waving in the wind.
Had I truly, nearly missed taking this walk?
My steps weren't draining my cup. They were filling it.
I looked for bird nests in the branches.
They were hard to spot, camouflaged by leaves. and it reminded me of an eagle's nest I'd seen on the beach a few weeks before. there was a stand of birch trees up on the cliff. pale and papery, above a lonely stretch of sand. and in one was a nest as big around as my kitchen table.
I gaped at it. Then, even more agog, spotted the eagle.
Talons rapped powerfully around a long branch, surveying the shoreline.
I dread that Aries like this could weigh up to a ton. that they were built with branches as big around as a forearm. and were lined with moss and corn stalks.
If I were an eagle, That would be the coziest place I could imagine.
After a few minutes, the eagle had tipped from the branch. spreading his wings to catch the updraft and soaring away.
I wondered if that felt like riding down a hill on your bicycle.
The rush of air around you. On a clear head.
In the dark of the woods, a white sign on the post stood out. and I could see a patch of waving high grass. through the tree trunks as I came closer.
The patch was a wide, open field. And suddenly I wanted to be right in the middle of it.
I raced down the path into the meadow. and opened my arms, spinning in circles. and drinking in the joy I felt just being there.
How had nearly the whole summer gone by? without me finding myself out in a field. ringed by trees, breathing in the sweet Sun dried.
Weedy smell. The sun was tilting toward the horizon. and a shaft of light cut through the crown of trees. to light up a single corner of the field. path came close to it. but never quite crossed into it. and I loved the perspective it gave me.
As I walked in the shade, The tall foxtail barley was ripe. the green of the stems, had been replaced with a golden shade shot through with a bit of silver. and the light struck it, like in an arthouse movie.
Garden, forest, field. What else could a person need?
When I heard the trickle, I smiled. Of course.
A bit of water, please. That would be the wax seal on this perfect walk.
A thin creek, just wide enough to be crossed in two strides. wound through the meadow.
The sound was like rain on cobblestones. but so quiet I could barely hear it over the rippling grasses.
I followed the water, watching where it washed over rocks and roots. and where the last post was driven into the ground. pointing me back to garden path one. back to where I started.
I squatted down beside it. I slipped my ring from my finger and into my pocket. and plunged both hands into the water.
I'd read somewhere that you can cool yourself quickly. by running cold water over your wrists. since the veins there are close to the surface.
They can carry the coolness into your body.
I didn't know if there was any truth to it. but it felt absolutely heavenly.
I washed my hands in the running water. gliding them over one another. washing water up my forearms and pressing my cool palms. against the back of my neck.
A few drops ran down my back, and I shivered. and chuckled to myself.
We marvel sometimes. at how perfectly the world suits us. how the design on the moth's wings matches exactly some flower in its rain forest.
How webs of life fit like puzzle pieces. in their environments, and among each other.
How an hour with trees and grass and water. can reset the human heart.
But of course it does. We've all grown up together here.
We are family. New Path I wasn't sure I had the energy today.
We were at the tail end of summer. and the heat was wearing me down. the wide open sky, as beautiful and blue as she was. felt overexposed and bleached out. and I almost ended my walk. as soon as I'd started it.
But then, I saw a post at the corner. the one across from the coffee cart on the south side of town. a post with a small sign beside a gravel path And my curiosity got the better of me.
What does that sign say? Where does that path go?
A million adventures have started this way.
So I turned my weary feet toward it. and shaded my eyes with my hand to read.
It was just a marker with an arrow pointing down the trail.
Garden Path 1, it said. Well. That begged the question.
What would I find at Garden Path 2? And off I went.
Down a small hill. and curving to the left.
I followed along at a slow ambling pace.
I kept to one edge of the path. where there was a bit of shade. from a line of young, slim-trunked redbud trees.
Their heart-shaped leaves were still deep green. and I wanted to come back in a month to see them then.
On a breezy, cool day. when the cicadas had quieted down. and the air smelled of dry grass.
All around me were wild growing switchgrass. and purple coneflowers.
The milkweed had begun to dry and crack open. and the thin flowers of the coreopsis waved in the wind. that was barely there.
Every so often, I came upon another post. marking garden paths two, three, and four.
I liked that they called what grew wild a native to the soil.
A garden. And that, while the signs didn't give much, in the way of information.
They did reassure me that I was going the right way.
I was still on the path. It curved now to the right and climbed slowly up. toward a line of thick woods.
I always like this moment. Not that it's one you get every day. out on a walk somewhere you haven't been before.
When you can't, from where you stand, quite make out. where the path is taking you, what lies ahead.
Was I headed into the woods? Or would it skirt the tree line and take me into a neighborhood? or even a dead end. where I'd have nothing to do but turn about. and retrace my steps.
I could feel the heat on the back of my neck. as I made my way up the rise.
My hair had come loose, and I caught it up. twisting it into a knot and clipping it in place. on top of my head.
The sudden coolness on my shoulders felt good.
A boost. to make it the last few paces to the top.
Another post and sign. Another arrow. Forest One.
Ah, so... I was headed in. Under a canopy. of a million leaves where the sound of chirping bugs suddenly disappeared.
And I only heard my footsteps. Now on woodchips. rather than crushed stone.
The smell of cedar and pine rushed at me.
And I thought of all the sap and needles. cones and seed pods, quietly working. through this shady network. dispersing and protecting genes. and chromosomes drinking from the soil. and waving in the wind.
Had I truly nearly missed taking this walk.
My steps weren't draining my cup. They were filling it.
I looked for birds' nests in the branches.
They were hard to spot, camouflaged by leaves.
And it reminded me of an eagle's nest. I'd seen on the beach a few weeks before. there was a stand of birch trees up on a cliff.
Pale and papery. above a lonely stretch of sand.
And in one was a nest. as big around as my kitchen table.
I'd keep that at. Then. Even more agog.
Spotted the eagle. Talons wrapped powerfully around a long branch. surveying the shoreline.
I'd read that Aries like this one could weigh Up to a ton. that they were built with branches. as big around as a forearm. and were lined with moss and corn stalks.
If I were an eagle. That would be the coziest place I could imagine.
After a few minutes, The eagle had tipped from the branch. spreading his wings to catch the updraft. and soaring away.
I wondered if that felt like riding downhill. on your bicycle. the rush of air around you, and a clear head. in the dark of the woods.
The white sign on the post stood out. and I could see a patch of waving high grass. through the tree trunks as I came closer.
The patch was a wide, open field. And suddenly, I wanted to be right in the middle of it.
I raced down the path, into the meadow, and opened my arms, spinning in circles.
And drinking in the joy I felt. Just being there.
How had nearly the whole summer gone by? without me finding myself out in a field. ringed by trees.
Breathing in, The sweet, sun-dried, weedy smell The sun was tilting toward the horizon. and a shaft of light cut through the crown of trees. to light up a single corner of the field.
The path came close to it. but never quite crossed into it. and I loved the perspective it gave me.
As I walked in the shade, The tall foxtail barley was ripe. the green of the stems, had been replaced with a golden shade. shot through with a bit of silver. and the light struck it, like in an arthouse movie.
Garden. Forest. Field. What else could a person need?
When I heard the trickle, I smiled. Of course.
A bit of water, please. That would be the wax seal on this perfect walk. a thin creek, just wide enough to be crossed. in two strides, wound through the meadow.
The sound was like rain on cobblestones. but so quiet, I could barely hear it. over the rippling grasses.
I followed the water, watching where it washed. over rocks and roots. and where the last post was driven into the ground.
Pointing me back, the garden path won. back to where I started.
I squatted down beside it. I slipped my ring from my finger and into my pocket. and plunged both hands into the water.
I'd read somewhere that you can cool yourself quickly. by running cold water over your wrists. since the veins there are close to the surface.
And they carry the coolness into your body.
I didn't know if there was any truth to it.
But it felt absolutely heavenly. I washed my hands in the running water. gliding them over one another, washing the water. up my forearms and pressing my cool palms against the back of my neck.
A few drops ran down my back, and I shivered. and chuckled to myself.
We marvel sometimes at how perfectly the world suits us. how the design on the moth swings. matches exactly some flower in its rain forest.
Our webs of life fit like puzzle pieces. in their environments, and among each other.
How an hour with trees and grass and water. can reset the human heart.
Of course it does. We've all grown up together here.
We are family. Sweet Dreams
