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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy.
My name's Thomas, and it's a pleasure to be your host.
Tonight we'll join Amelia as she explores the picturesque village of Summerwell, searching for sculptures left behind by a mysterious stranger.
Thanks so much to Sarah for writing this one, which our good friend Simon will be reading for us.
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Tomorrow, we have something extra special for you.
I've recorded a meditation to help you settle your nervous system before a restful night's sleep.
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Now my friends, before we join Amelia for her adventure in Summerwell...
Take a moment to make yourself comfortable.
Close your eyes and allow your muscles to relax.
When you feel ready, inhale slowly, focusing on the breath and the sensation of your chest as it softly rises.
As you exhale, let go of any discomfort and imagine yourself sinking deeper down into your bed.
You are held here in safety, peace and comfort, with the support of your bed and the familiarity of your surroundings.
Enjoy this moment of relaxation and calm.
Continuing to breathe slowly and peacefully.
Really allowing yourself to give in to rest.
Let all thoughts of the day slip away as you begin to imagine the warmth and glow of the sun's light on your skin.
It is on a bright spring day that we visit a small village sheltered in a veil of rolling fields and colorful wildflower meadows.
This is where our story begins.
Spring, in the picturesque village of Summerwell, was always a rather splendid affair.
Every year, the blossom trees, which winter had made bare and unwelcoming, transformed into clouds of pink.
They lined the main road through town, raining blush-colored petals at even the slightest of breezes.
The verges of the few small lanes which branched off from this road were bursting with the bright yellows of daffodils and primroses.
Small, honey-stoned cottages were scattered about the streets that made up the village.
They were old and somewhat crooked, but this only added to their charm.
Some had thatched roofs, while others had more conventional slate tiles.
Just as each inhabitant of this peaceful community had their own personality, each house had its own character.
While one cottage might be overgrown with ivy or wisteria, its neighbor might be perfectly manicured with colorful window boxes and a freshly painted door.
At the very heart of Summerwell.
The standalone cottages with wraparound gardens gave way to rows of terraced houses.
Again, each house differed slightly from the next.
Some looked like they had been crammed into any available space and were nestled snugly there.
Compared with other residents, Amelia had only lived in the village a little while, but it wasn't long before she had spotted the unusual carvings and playful statues about the place.
Curious as to their origin, she had asked the local pub landlord about them.
He had explained that they were the work of a rather flamboyant and much-loved local man.
He had lived in the old manor house at the very edge of the village boundary until one day he left for more exotic climes.
The landlord had handed her a cheaply printed leaflet which a local history group had put together.
On it was a map of the village with numbered points of interest.
If you start at the tithe barn on the far side of Summerwell.
He had said you could follow the trail and find all the artwork that the man had gifted the village.
The story of the mysterious stranger had suddenly peaked Amelia's interest.
She had decided that on her next day off, she would explore the town.
It was on a mild and bright Saturday morning that the opportunity finally arose.
After a deep, restful sleep and a breakfast of rich, buttery toast, she set off for the barn.
Joining her was Lila, her rather excitable puppy, who loved nothing more than walks.
As instructed, they started at the tithe barn.
The wooden gate sat slightly ajar, and so they entered into the vast grassy compound that wrapped around the building.
The barn itself was made of the same honey-colored stone as the cottages, but was much taller and grander than any building in the village.
The roof sloped steeply upwards, forming a sharp apex.
There were no windows, rather places where bricks were missing, forming patterns in the walls.
The building had been built in the early medieval period.
Its purpose was to store grain, which farmers paid in tithe to the church.
Amelia struggled to imagine that this place was once a hive of activity and work.
Today, it was peaceful and calm.
The wildflower lawn which surrounded the barn was colourful and soft with moss in places.
Bees were buzzing cheerfully as they glided a little haphazardly from flower to flower.
Lila was fascinated.
She pounced with clumsy energy, ducking and bowing, but never getting too close to the bees.
She laid low to the ground, occasionally pushing her nose a little closer to them, inch by inch.
Before long, her puppy enthusiasm burst free, and she was off again, pouncing, ducking and bowing.
Emilia looked down at her map.
Point one sat right over the tithe barn.
Curiously, she headed inside.
Now, taking to biting on her lead playfully, Lila followed.
The wooden rafters of the barn were gnarly and old.
They formed a cathedral-like vaulted ceiling high overhead.
The soft cooing of pigeons rang out in the drafty, cool air.
Up ahead, in the vast emptiness of the barn, Amelia spotted the first sculpture.
As she approached it, her shoes crunched on discarded twigs and leaves.
These must have been the rejects from the bird nests above.
She neared the statue, but it wasn't quite what she had expected.
Considering that this was once a place to store grain and other produce, it made little sense.
The statue was of a horse and foal.
The horse's head was bowed and hay seemed to be falling from her mouth.
To the side of her was a young foal.
It was carved in such a way that it gave off the same playful energy that Lila had exhibited moments earlier.
Amelia traced her hands over the smooth yellow stone of the statue.
It was well worn, but she could still feel the subtle dents of a chisel.
The mane was carved in such a way that it was textured.
Lila didn't seem too impressed by the statue.
To her, the place was alive with a flurry of unfamiliar scents.
Her nose was twitching at the ground as she followed the trails left by unknown creatures.
Amelia wondered what it was that had walked this way.
Perhaps a fox or maybe a cat.
Indulging the puppy, Amelia followed where she led.
It was to a small alcove off the main body of the barn.
Here, Lila had found something to her interest.
She padded at the ground and sniffed some of the fallen feathers.
Looking around, Amelia noticed an information board attached to the wall.
From it she learned that many centuries ago the barn had been converted into a stable to shelter animals.
Perhaps this was why the artist had chosen to put horses inside the barn.
Before Amelia had any time to dwell on this, Lila let out a small, happy bark.
At the side door was a ginger cat.
Behind it, bright light cascaded onto the floor, creating a pool of warm light the perfect spot for an afternoon nap.
Though it seemed that this had been the cat's original intention, it was much too curious now.
With a raised tail and all the confidence of a much larger creature, it walked right up to them.
Lila sank to the floor.
Her tail wagged, brushing aside the twigs and feathers.
The cat boldly brushed its face up against her.
Then...
With a feline flick of its tail, it moved to brush up against Amelia's legs.
Bending down, she stroked her fingers through the cat's soft, silky fur.
The cat looped around her and purred, before returning happily to the sunny spot by the entrance.
Taking this as their cue to move on, Amelia looked back down at the map.
The second spot was over the village pond, which was only a short walk down the lane.
On one side of the path was a large green hedge.
It was alive with the fluttering of wings and the singing of birds.
Their melodies were not in harmony with each other, but that did not lessen the beauty of their songs.
Spring would soon be over.
Nests had been made and eggs hatched.
Occasionally, a sprightly bird would burst forth from the greenery on a mission to forage for food for the young chicks.
They were nearing the pond which sat just before the impeccably manicured green of the cricket pitch.
Unlike the playing field, this area of the village had been left to nature.
The pool was large, with a willow tree hanging over it at one edge.
Its long green branches cascaded down into the still water, causing the slightest ripples as the breeze moved about them.
A circular bench encompassed the trunk of the tree and offered a shady spot to sit.
The pond was host to a variety of plant life.
At the far side.
Bulrushes and grasses had sprouted from its depths, and a floating carpet of green duckweed traveled slowly across the water's surface.
Amelia looked down at the edge of the pond.
On a previous walk, she had spotted frog spawn and was keen to see how the offspring were growing.
Much to her delight, at the warm edge of the pond, a flurry of tadpoles were gathered.
They were nibbling on something so nutritious that they didn't seem to mind her presence.
Not too far away, an adult frog emerged from beneath a floating leaf.
Its body remained hidden, but its head peered out above the water.
It was so still.
Amelia had spotted the unusual artwork that the pond was hiding when she first moved to the village.
Half submerged beneath the water was a hippo.
It was carved from the same stone as the horses.
And, much like the frog, only its head was poking out above the surface.
In a place of such comings and goings, this hippo seemed to be a peaceful constant, an onlooker and a guardian.
There was so much activity here that Amelia's attention was soon drawn to a dragonfly whose wings were beating furiously nearby.
It buzzed erratically about her before darting off for the bulrushes.
Before long, a mother duck glided into view.
She was followed by a line of fluffy, brown and yellow ducklings.
While her movements were slow and elegant, they scrambled after her.
Although she couldn't see them, Amelia could imagine that their small webbed feet were paddling furiously to keep up.
Their barely audible tiny chirps were bossy and demanding, but it made Amelia smile with happiness.
She was grateful that she had this opportunity to observe them.
Lila also enjoyed watching them take a leisurely tour of the pond.
Together.
Lila and Amelia sat on the bench beneath the willow tree and looked out through the canopy.
The air was comfortably warm and the sun, though shining brightly, was masked by the leaves of the tree.
All was peaceful and calm.
They sat there for a while and Amelia reflected on how much the village had changed with the arrival of spring.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes for a brief moment of stillness.
Lila flopped down on her lap and nestled closer.
They stayed there for a while, taking in the sights and the sounds of the pond.
But finally, it was time to move on.
The third point was in the market square.
On the walk there, they would pass by the Blue Bell Cafe, which also happened to be Amelia's favorite place to stop for cake.
Leaving the pond behind, they walked past the empty cricket field and headed down Honeysuckle Lane.
It was a cobbled street with terraced houses on either side and was also home to the cafe.
The cafe had a pastel blue frontage with a large window that stretched the width of the building.
Amelia peered through the glass at the cakes and pastries, trying to decide what it was she wanted to eat.
There was a lemon drizzle cake, a Victoria sponge decorated with fresh red strawberries croissants, blueberry muffins far too much to pick from.
She was pulled from her thoughts of sweet treats by Lila's tail wagging excitably against her leg.
The owner had come out to greet them.
They were regulars here, and Lila was always excited to come back.
After making their order, they passed through a narrow passageway between the cafe and the house next door.
Once on the other side, a hidden courtyard garden greeted them.
It was decorated with potted plants and a wall-mounted water spout.
Tables and chairs were set out for customers of the cafe, but despite the lovely weather and beautiful garden, it was not too busy.
Emilia took a seat and glanced around.
The spring sun flooded the courtyard with light.
Its energy warmed the soft breeze, which in turn wafted the sweet fragrance of jasmine through the garden.
On either side of a babbling fountain was a beautiful peach-colored rosebush climbing the wall.
It scattered large, delicate blooms throughout the space.
It wasn't long before a pot of fresh mint tea and a slice of lemon drizzle cake arrived at the table.
For Lila, a bowl of cool water was placed by her side.
It came with a dog biscuit, which she received most gratefully.
The cake was perfectly soft.
The top had been sprinkled with edible blue flowers and lemon zest.
It was delicious.
After the glass pot of tea cooled and the fresh mint floating in the water was bright green, Amelia poured it into the porcelain teacup.
Steam swirled up from the stream of liquid, which made a satisfying sound as it hit the porcelain and filled the cup.
Together, Amelia and Lila took in the sights and sounds of the garden.
The bees were flying from flower to flower.
A plucky little robin was chirping proudly with its fluffed-up chest feathers.
It flitted between the top of the walls and a seed feeder which was swinging from a hook.
The clinking of knives and forks against plates and the chatter of the other customers sitting in the garden were also welcome to her.
Before long, she set her plate to one side and looked down at Lila.
The young dog was snoozing peacefully.
Her body was rising and falling with each breath.
Gently, Amelia called her name.
Lila slowly looked up at her and then lazily rolled onto her back, lifting a single paw into the air in protest.
This was her cue for attention.
Amelia stroked her side gently, which seemed to please Lila enough.
The puppy eventually clambered to her feet, but not before a very deep stretch.
The pads of her paws splayed out as she did so, and she let out a very long yawn.
No doubt Lila was going to spend the majority of this evening tucked up in her bed with her favorite blanket.
The next part of their journey took them to the center of the village.
It was a paved area ordered on three sides by rows of shops and houses.
Summerwell was home to a thriving farmer's market.
It was a tradition dating back hundreds of years.
Each of the main streets that led to the square still held traces of its history.
On the roads you could see grooves that carts heavily laden with goods had eroded over hundreds of years.
Right in the middle of the square was the village hall.
Like most things about Summerwell, it too was old.
It was compact and painted a dusky orange.
The top of the hall was supported by stone columns that formed the open lower level.
While the enclosed rooms on the upper floor were for meetings and a pop-up museum, the lower level provided shelter from bad weather for those waiting for the village bus.
Today was Saturday, and so the market was overflowing with colorful canvassed stalls.
Each was selling a different locally made product, from jams, cheese and bread to artwork soap and flowers.
Every week.
The fruit and vegetable stall took the prime spot right in the middle of the square, which is right where point number three on the map was.
Just behind the vegetable stall was a statue.
It was something Amelia had passed many times, but had never taken a closer look at.
Making her way past the stalls, she went to inspect it.
Carved diligently from the stone was a man wearing a heavy looking astronaut suit.
More perplexing still was that in one hand he had a stone parrot, only it had been painted in vivid yellows, reds and blues.
Each feather was carved in such detail that Amelia couldn't help but reach out and touch it.
The stone was cool and rough, but the etchings of the feathers were deep and pronounced.
On her walks around town, Amelia had noticed other stone parrots.
Some sat above doorways.
Others were perched on windowsills.
She had never wondered why the village had such an affinity for these ornaments.
But she was about to find out.
An onlooker had been observing her and with a cheerful demeanor he approached and explained the origin of the statue.
It was a representation of the artist himself.
He was a man who could easily while away the night looking up at the stars, longing to explore every one.
Instead, he spent his days studying the natural wonders about him.
The parrot was his favorite animal and, in his opinion, the most charming of all creatures.
Bold, lively, and mischievous.
He was often seen wandering around the village with his parrot, and it seemed it was a sight the villagers missed.
So much so that, after he left town, the community had the stone parrots carved for their homes and businesses.
Amelia made a note to herself that from now on, whenever she walked around town, she would make sure to look out for them.
It was a little too busy in the market square to look for the other parrots that were hidden here, and Lila wanted to continue their walk away from the crowd.
So they headed to the next stop on the map, the tower.
On the other side of the village from where they started was Bluebell Clump.
It was a small hill rising out from a veil with beautiful meadows.
A small wood sprawled up one side of the hill, and at the very top sat a tower partially obscured by trees.
During the early summer months, the grass of the hill was covered with a wash of red poppies.
During autumn, the copse of trees which crowned it was a speckle of oranges, yellows and reds.
In winter, the hill was the first place to settle with snow.
But during spring it became a woodland garden of bluebells.
People traveled from nearby towns and villages to see the spectacle.
Dedicated paths were cut through the forest floor to ensure that none of the precious flowers would be harmed.
Their fragrance was sweet, yet subtle.
And as the light broke through the canopy in places, their bluish hue transformed to purple.
Emilia and Lila followed the path up to the very top of the hill, always mindful to stick to it.
Once they reached the top, a wider track cut through the copse of trees framing the tower which sat right in the center.
As they walked towards the building, Amelia couldn't help but notice small doors sitting at the foot of the trees.
The locals called these fairy doors.
No one knew who had placed them here, and no one really wanted to.
It was enough to take joy in them and entertain the idea that perhaps fairy tale creatures did live amongst the bluebells.
The tower itself had a single door at the far side.
It was never opened and the only clue as to what was inside was through the windows.
These, however, sat close to the very top and so were inaccessible.
It was the tower itself that corresponded to point four on the map.
It was large and imposing.
Unlike the buildings in the village, it was made of a smooth dark red brick.
The top of the tower was flat and rising from it was a single light.
At night it could be seen for miles around signaling to the residents that home was not too far away.
The artist had commissioned the building for reasons which nobody fully knew, but all appreciated it.
The final point was just on the other side of the tower, at the edge of the tree line.
With Lila happily plodding by her side.
Amelia reached it, the bridge to nowhere, or so the sign said.
It was a gently arching wooden bridge.
It did not cross a stream, nor a path, not even a ditch.
It was a bridge without purpose.
She gazed at it curiously.
Within moments, two children arrived.
Without any hesitation, they ran over it and back again.
They jumped on it, they ran under it.
That it didn't have any real function didn't bother them one bit.
Emilia slowly came to realize like much of the artwork she had seen today, it didn't need to have a purpose or make sense.
It was there to be enjoyed and evoke a sense of wonder and delight.
And so, with a smile, she crossed the bridge.
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