Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens. You'll feel good and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear. A Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by
Speaker 1: Bob Whittersheim. Want to live in the village of nothing much.
Speaker 1: There are some ways to get in there. Bonus and
Speaker 1: ad free episodes, cozy and mh hoodies and mugs and pencils,
Speaker 1: and my beautifully illustrated book, well lots more all it
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens dot com. Busy minds need a place
Speaker 1: to rest. I've written you a soft landing, a simple
Speaker 1: story to rest your attention on. I'll tell it twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: Just by listening, you'll shift your brain activity and put
Speaker 1: yourself in a place where sleep will come. If you
Speaker 1: waken the night, you can listen again or think through
Speaker 1: any parts that you can remember. Your brain will shift
Speaker 1: again and you will fall right back to sleep. We're
Speaker 1: creating a conditioned response, so know that the more you
Speaker 1: do this, the more reliable your sleep will be. If
Speaker 1: you're new here, well be patient at first. All right,
Speaker 1: it's time, turn off your light, set down what you
Speaker 1: were looking at, get the right pillow in the right spot,
Speaker 1: and make your own comfort your first priority. Whatever happened
Speaker 1: today is what happened today. And now we're here. You
Speaker 1: are safe, and I will keep watch together. Let's breathe in,
Speaker 1: deep through the nose and side through the mouth. Nice
Speaker 1: once more, breathe in, let it out good. Our story
Speaker 1: tonight is called beach walk, and it's a story about
Speaker 1: meeting the morning light where the water meets the land.
Speaker 1: It's also about the first step into the cool water,
Speaker 1: dog chasing a stick into the waves, and a beach
Speaker 1: towel laid out neatly in the sand. Beach walk. Sometimes
Speaker 1: I went in the afternoon or just before sunset. It
Speaker 1: depended on the day, on the heat and the sun,
Speaker 1: and how many other people might be walking today. I
Speaker 1: woke up early and decided that before I got tangled
Speaker 1: up in any other ideas and chores or to do list,
Speaker 1: I'd just go. There was something a friend of mine
Speaker 1: used to say, when endow do what you were going
Speaker 1: to do first, a suggestion to trust your instincts and
Speaker 1: not overthink. So I trusted mine. I put my swimsuit
Speaker 1: on with shorts and a tank top, and grabbed a
Speaker 1: few beach towels and the jug. I took on hikes
Speaker 1: filled with ice water, and drove out to the beach.
Speaker 1: The lot was a long, narrow space that would be
Speaker 1: full of cars and scooters and bikes by midday, but
Speaker 1: this early there were only a few others parked there.
Speaker 1: I left most of my things in my car, thinking
Speaker 1: that I'd take a long walk then come back here
Speaker 1: before a swim. I even left my flip flops and
Speaker 1: the footwell of the car as soon as I stepped
Speaker 1: out on to the sand. I wanted to be barefoot.
Speaker 1: It was cool under my souls and damp, just the
Speaker 1: right texture to make a castle with the sun was
Speaker 1: still low on the horizon, its rays hadn't had a
Speaker 1: chance yet to heat up all those many grains of sand.
Speaker 1: I stood still, feeling them shift beneath me, wondering just
Speaker 1: how many there might be on a beach like this.
Speaker 1: I'd read once that our brains run on eighty six
Speaker 1: billion neurons, that there are two hundred billion trillion stars
Speaker 1: and the observable universe, and I wondered about the number
Speaker 1: of blades of grass, of feathers, of pounds of salt
Speaker 1: in the ocean, of gemstones buried deep inside the ground.
Speaker 1: If I take twenty thousand breaths a day, and so
Speaker 1: do you and everyone else, could we add them all
Speaker 1: up and divide by grains of sand? I smiled to
Speaker 1: myself as I started to walk, imagining some sort of
Speaker 1: cosmic accounting an abacus made of stars, multiplying my breaths
Speaker 1: with the wing beats of bees. Being ankle deep in
Speaker 1: sand and so near the sound of the waves did
Speaker 1: this to me made me feel very small, but absolutely
Speaker 1: in balance with the bigger universe. It felt like finding
Speaker 1: the red dot on the map. You are here, and
Speaker 1: here I was, striding slowly down the beach and closer
Speaker 1: to the water. If you've ever brought little ones to
Speaker 1: the beach or swimming pool, or even near to a sprinkler,
Speaker 1: you can see it in their faces. They are irresistibly
Speaker 1: drawn to it, and even in my grown up body,
Speaker 1: I felt the same way. I couldn't wait to feel
Speaker 1: the water wash over my ankles, and I picked up
Speaker 1: my pace and splashed in The cool waves rolling over
Speaker 1: my feet felt like relief, Like those videos the folks
Speaker 1: working to help a sea turtle who's been flipped onto
Speaker 1: his back. They get him right side up again, and
Speaker 1: you watch him push and paddle closer to the water
Speaker 1: until he slips all the way in and it washes
Speaker 1: over his shell. And you think, what a relief it
Speaker 1: must have been, how good it must have felt to
Speaker 1: come home. I started to walk through the shallows, sometimes
Speaker 1: stepping back onto the just damp sand and sometimes getting
Speaker 1: wet up to my knees. I watched a time step
Speaker 1: of long legged sandpipers racing along the water, chasing each
Speaker 1: wave back as it rolled out, and running from the
Speaker 1: next rolling in. They had tall, jointed legs and long
Speaker 1: pointed bills for digging in the sand, and I used
Speaker 1: to mistake them for piping plovers, alliterative birds. They were
Speaker 1: plumper and paler and short build and a rare sight.
Speaker 1: On this beach. There were only a few people walking,
Speaker 1: and almost no one sat up in the sand. Yet
Speaker 1: I enjoyed the solitude and stopped frequently to turn over
Speaker 1: stones and shells with my toes. I carried some into
Speaker 1: the water and rinsed the sand from them in my hands,
Speaker 1: noticing the iridescent insides of the shells and the tiny
Speaker 1: specks of color in the rocks. I found a few
Speaker 1: very good skipping stones, broad and smooth and flat, And
Speaker 1: while most of them went straight in with a PLoP,
Speaker 1: the last one skipped across the surface four times before
Speaker 1: sinking in. I wondered how many times had the same
Speaker 1: flat stones been cast out and washed back up to
Speaker 1: be scooped out of the surf and skipped again. Maybe
Speaker 1: the one I threw had been last skipped by some
Speaker 1: one a hundred years ago who also liked to get
Speaker 1: up early and walk before the sand got hot, And
Speaker 1: maybe they had wondered about the hands that threw it.
Speaker 1: Another a hundred years before. Ahead of me, a black
Speaker 1: dog with shining, wet fur sat at its owner's feet,
Speaker 1: its tail thumping into the sand, excitedly begging for a
Speaker 1: stick to be thrown into the water. The owner lifted
Speaker 1: it high in an arc overhead, like they were casting
Speaker 1: a fishing line, and threw it far out into the waves.
Speaker 1: The dog darted keen on its mission and swam for
Speaker 1: what I guessed was the twentieth time this morning to
Speaker 1: retrieve it. I watched as the dog caught up the
Speaker 1: stick and turned in the water paddling to the shore.
Speaker 1: His muzzle was stark white against his black fur, and
Speaker 1: the sight of his sweet, older face made me put
Speaker 1: my hand on my heart a sudden clench of emotion.
Speaker 1: He wouldn't always be able to do this, but to
Speaker 1: day he could, and his person was here for it.
Speaker 1: I started to notice a few umbrellas propped in the sand,
Speaker 1: folding chairs being wrestled into place, towels unfurled like tablecloths.
Speaker 1: Then was rising higher, and the humid air was heating
Speaker 1: up quickly. I was ready for my swim, so I
Speaker 1: turned and began walking back in the direction I had come.
Speaker 1: I passed a giant piece of driftwood. It was bleached
Speaker 1: white from the sun, gnarled and dry, but still recognizably
Speaker 1: part of a tree. Maybe it had been struck by
Speaker 1: lightning or just snapped by strong winds and sent into
Speaker 1: the water. I had washed up here who knows how
Speaker 1: many years ago, and was sort of a local landmark.
Speaker 1: I had seen high school student posing for pictures in
Speaker 1: front of it, and it was depicted in a watercolor
Speaker 1: from the gallery up the street. Sometimes people left shells
Speaker 1: balanced on it, and once I'd seen a team of
Speaker 1: folks building a huge sand castle, incorporating it into the moat.
Speaker 1: I started the climb up toward my car, already thinking
Speaker 1: of the jug of cold water spreading my towel out
Speaker 1: in the sand. It was just a simple beech walk.
Speaker 1: But how many places I'd already been this morning beach walk?
Speaker 1: Sometimes I went in the afternoon or just before sunset.
Speaker 1: It depended on the day, on the heat, when the sun,
Speaker 1: and how many other people might be walking today. I
Speaker 1: woke up early and decided that before I got tangled
Speaker 1: up in any other ideas in chores or what to
Speaker 1: do list, I'd just go. And it was something a
Speaker 1: friend of mine used to say, when in doubt, do
Speaker 1: what you were going to do first, a suggestion to
Speaker 1: trust your instincts and not overthink. So I trusted mine.
Speaker 1: I put my swimsuit on with shorts on a tank top,
Speaker 1: and grabbed a few beach towels and the jog I
Speaker 1: took on hikes filled with ice water, and drove out
Speaker 1: to the beach. The lot was a long, narrow space
Speaker 1: that would be full of cars and scooters and bikes
Speaker 1: by midday, but this early there were only a few
Speaker 1: others parked there. I left most of my things my car,
Speaker 1: thinking that i'd take a long walk then come back
Speaker 1: here before a swim. I even left my flip flops
Speaker 1: in the footwell of the car. As soon as I
Speaker 1: stepped out onto the sand, I wanted to be barefoot.
Speaker 1: It was cool under my souls and damp, just the
Speaker 1: right texture to make a castle with the sun was
Speaker 1: still low on the horizon. Its rays hadn't had a
Speaker 1: chance yet to heat up all those many grains of sand.
Speaker 1: I stood still, feeling it shift beneath me, wondering just
Speaker 1: how many there might be on a beach like this.
Speaker 1: I'd read once that our brains run on eighty six
Speaker 1: billion nerons, that there are two hundred billion trillion stars
Speaker 1: in the observable universe. And I thought too, about the
Speaker 1: number of blades of grass, of feathers, of pounds of
Speaker 1: salt in the ocean, of gemstones buried deep inside the ground.
Speaker 1: If I take twenty thousand breaths a day, and so
Speaker 1: do you and everyone else, could we add them all
Speaker 1: up and divide by grains of sand. I smiled at
Speaker 1: myself as I started to walk, imagining some sort of
Speaker 1: cosmic accounting. An abacus made of stars, multiplying my breaths
Speaker 1: with the wing beats of bees. Being ankle deep in
Speaker 1: sand and so near the sound of the waves did
Speaker 1: this to me. Made me feel very small, but absolutely
Speaker 1: in balance with the bigger universe. It felt like finding
Speaker 1: the red dot on the map. You are here, and
Speaker 1: here I was, striding slowly down the beach and closer
Speaker 1: to the water. If you've ever brought little ones to
Speaker 1: the beach or swimming pool, or even near to a sprinkler,
Speaker 1: you can see it in their faces. They are irresistibly
Speaker 1: drawn to it, and even and my grown up body,
Speaker 1: I felt the same way. I couldn't wait to feel
Speaker 1: the water wash over my ankles, and I picked up
Speaker 1: my pace and splashed in the cool waves rolling over
Speaker 1: my feet felt like relief, Like those videos of folks
Speaker 1: working to help a sea turtle who's been flipped on
Speaker 1: his back. They get him right side up again, and
Speaker 1: you watch him push and paddle closer to the water
Speaker 1: until he slips all the way in and it washes
Speaker 1: over his shell, and you think, what a relief it
Speaker 1: must have been, how good it must have felt to
Speaker 1: come home. I started to walk through the shallows, sometimes
Speaker 1: stepping back into the just damp sand, and sometimes getting
Speaker 1: wet up to my knees. I watched a time step
Speaker 1: of long legged sandpipers racing along the water, chasing each
Speaker 1: wave back as it rolled out, and running from the
Speaker 1: next rolling in. They had tall, jointed legs and long
Speaker 1: pointed bills for digging in the sand, and I used
Speaker 1: to mistake them for piping plovers, alliterative birds. They were
Speaker 1: plumper and paler and short build and a rare sight.
Speaker 1: On this beach. There were only a few people walking,
Speaker 1: and almost no one set up in the sand. Yet
Speaker 1: I enjoyed the solitude and stopped frequently to turn over
Speaker 1: stones and shells with my toes. I carried some into
Speaker 1: the water and rinsed the sand from them in my hands,
Speaker 1: noticing the iridescent insides of the shells and the tiny
Speaker 1: specks of color and the rocks. I found a few
Speaker 1: very good skipping stones, broad and smooth and flat, and
Speaker 1: while most of them went straight in with a PLoP,
Speaker 1: the last one skipped across the surface four times before
Speaker 1: sinking in. How many times had the same flat stones
Speaker 1: been cast out and washed back up to be scooped
Speaker 1: out of the surf and skipped again. Maybe the one
Speaker 1: I threw had last been skipped by someone a hundred
Speaker 1: years ago who also liked to get up early and
Speaker 1: walk before the sand got hot, and maybe they had
Speaker 1: wandered about the hands that threw it another hundred years before.
Speaker 1: Ahead of me, a black dog with shining, wet fur
Speaker 1: sat at its owner's feet, its tail thumping into the sand,
Speaker 1: excitedly begging for a stick to be thrown back into
Speaker 1: the water. The owner lifted it high in an arc overhead,
Speaker 1: like they were casting a fishing line, and threw it
Speaker 1: far out into the waves. The dog darted, keen on
Speaker 1: its mission and swam for what I guessed was the
Speaker 1: twentieth time this morning to retrieve it. I watched as
Speaker 1: the dog caught up the stick and turned in the water,
Speaker 1: paddling to the shore. His muzzle was stark white against
Speaker 1: his black fur, and the sight of his sweet, older
Speaker 1: face made me clap a hand over my heart, a
Speaker 1: sudden clench of emotion. He wouldn't always be able to
Speaker 1: do this, but to day he could, and his person
Speaker 1: was here for it. I started to notice a few
Speaker 1: umbrellas propped in the sand, folding chairs being wrestled into place,
Speaker 1: towels unfurled like tablecloths. The sun was rising higher and
Speaker 1: the humid air was heating up quickly. I was ready
Speaker 1: for my swim, so I turned and began walking back
Speaker 1: in the direction I had come. I passed a giant
Speaker 1: piece of driftwood. It was bleached white from the sun,
Speaker 1: gnarled and dry, but still recognizably part of a Maybe
Speaker 1: it had been struck by lightning, or just snapped by
Speaker 1: strong winds and sent into the water. It had washed
Speaker 1: up here who knows how many years ago now, and
Speaker 1: was sort of a local landmark. I'd seen high school
Speaker 1: students posing for pictures in front of it, and it
Speaker 1: was depicted in a watercolor from the gallery up the street.
Speaker 1: Sometimes people left shells balanced on it, and once I'd
Speaker 1: seen a team of folks building a huge sand castle,
Speaker 1: incorporating it into the moat. I started the climb up
Speaker 1: toward my car, already thinking of the jug of cold
Speaker 1: water spreading my towel out in the sand. It was
Speaker 1: just a simple beech walk, But how many places I
Speaker 1: had already been this morning? Sweet dreams