Speaker 1: Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing Much happens,
Speaker 1: you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
Speaker 1: I write and read all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We
Speaker 1: give to a different charity each week, and this week
Speaker 1: we are giving to Mountain Humane and Pause for Hunger
Speaker 1: Pet Pantry, saving animals and changing lives. Learn more at
Speaker 1: the link in our show notes. If you find these
Speaker 1: stories useful to you at bedtime, I want to encourage
Speaker 1: you to try our daytime version of the show as well.
Speaker 1: It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, and
Speaker 1: it's told in a non sleepy way with beautiful sound design.
Speaker 1: It's a great show to listen to just to enjoy
Speaker 1: the stories, and also a useful tool for coping with
Speaker 1: anxiety and reducing stress. Find it on any podcast app.
Speaker 1: It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much. And
Speaker 1: if you're looking for more more Nothing Much, we have that.
Speaker 1: Our premium subscription has over thirty exclusive bonus episodes, with
Speaker 1: a new one added each month, and it's all ad free.
Speaker 1: We have a link in our notes to subscribe, or
Speaker 1: you can just search an IMH premium on your Apple
Speaker 1: podcast app. Now. Storytelling to induce sleep is hardly new.
Speaker 1: It's a tried and true method and it works just
Speaker 1: by giving your brain a simple job to do. Just
Speaker 1: by listening to the sound of my voice and following
Speaker 1: along with the simple shape of the tale, we will
Speaker 1: shift your brain into its task positive mode, where sleep
Speaker 1: is much more accessible. I'll tell the story twice, and
Speaker 1: I'll go a little slower the second time through. If
Speaker 1: you wake later in the night, you can play the
Speaker 1: story again or just think through any part of it
Speaker 1: that you can remember. Our story tonight is called The
Speaker 1: Bridge in the Woods, and it's a story about a
Speaker 1: break in the cold weather and the boost that comes
Speaker 1: from warm sunlight on your face. It's also about woodpeckers
Speaker 1: and spring melt flowing fast, the wonders of libraries, and
Speaker 1: the kindness of people who you might never meet but
Speaker 1: have cleared a path for you. Now it's time snuggle down, campers,
Speaker 1: lights out. Maybe you've been looking forward to this moment
Speaker 1: all day, and now it's here. What that feeling of
Speaker 1: finally being safe in your own bed wash over you,
Speaker 1: Let your jaw relax, let your shoulders soften, take a
Speaker 1: deep breath in and sigh it out one more time inhale,
Speaker 1: and let it go good. The bridge in the woods.
Speaker 1: There is a path behind the library, edged with fallen logs,
Speaker 1: that winds deep into the woods. In some places it's
Speaker 1: laid with wood chips, and in others the bare ground
Speaker 1: and tree roots show through it splits and branches. And
Speaker 1: though I think I have walked every one of the
Speaker 1: trails that emerge from it, I don't pretend to know
Speaker 1: all the secrets of those acres. We were in a
Speaker 1: warm spell of early spring that could easily tip right
Speaker 1: back into winter at any time. The wind had been
Speaker 1: blowing and brisk for a few days, and the mud
Speaker 1: left after the last snow had melted was drying up.
Speaker 1: Then today the sun had come out and the wind
Speaker 1: had died down. I hadn't realized until I felt the
Speaker 1: bright light on my face how badly I needed it.
Speaker 1: It felt like we had had more than our fair
Speaker 1: share of gray, dull days lately, and I'd been focused
Speaker 1: on keeping my head down and trying through the sunshine
Speaker 1: had instantly boosted my mood. I stood at the kitchen sink,
Speaker 1: my teacup steaming beside me, and smiled so easily. At
Speaker 1: the bright day, my heart was lighter and my body
Speaker 1: eager to get outside and move a bit. So I
Speaker 1: tied on my boots and come to this path behind
Speaker 1: the library. There was a little sign at the trailhead
Speaker 1: saying that it was cared for by the friends of
Speaker 1: the library, and that all were welcome to enjoy the paths.
Speaker 1: I smiled, thinking that I had a lot of good
Speaker 1: friends in my life, but is there a better friend
Speaker 1: than the library? Books, periodicals, movies, and a trail to hikon.
Speaker 1: I'd found out recently. They even had appliances and tools
Speaker 1: you could check out, sewing machines and telescopes and guitars
Speaker 1: and jigsaws, all for free with your library card. One
Speaker 1: of the librarians had even helped me archive my family photos,
Speaker 1: and once when I'd been overwhelmed and anxious made phone
Speaker 1: calls for me to renew a prescription and make a
Speaker 1: doctor's appointment. I decided I should become an official friend
Speaker 1: of the library, joined this group and helped to care
Speaker 1: for the trails. Setting out, the ground was springy and
Speaker 1: the air smelt half of frozen leaves and bare branches
Speaker 1: and half of moving water and moss, and because of
Speaker 1: those bare branches, the sunlight made it all the way
Speaker 1: down to me, even as I got deeper into the trees.
Speaker 1: I took a right at a fork in the path
Speaker 1: and followed it around a grove of birches. There were
Speaker 1: snowdrops growing around their trunks when I stopped to wonder
Speaker 1: if they had just come out to day, if mine
Speaker 1: were the first eyes to behold them. At the next fork,
Speaker 1: I turned to the left, wanting to stay in the
Speaker 1: deepest part of the woods for as long as possible.
Speaker 1: There was a fallen, hallowed out tree that was big
Speaker 1: enough for me to sit in. Though I stayed to
Speaker 1: the path, the sound of a woodpecker at work echoed
Speaker 1: around me, and high in the branches, I could see
Speaker 1: birds and squirrels busy with their chores. I wondered if
Speaker 1: they felt like I did when the sun hid them
Speaker 1: this morning, inspired to take make a break from hibernation
Speaker 1: and move their little bodies. It sounded by the bird
Speaker 1: song and the chittering that they had At the next fork,
Speaker 1: I stood still a moment and closed my eyes. Which way,
Speaker 1: I asked myself. All of the paths so far had
Speaker 1: been familiar. Those birch trees that fallen trunk I'd seen
Speaker 1: them before. I wondered if there was something still to
Speaker 1: discover out here. I resisted the urge to just move,
Speaker 1: to turn and go on, and kept the weight balanced
Speaker 1: across my feet. I breathed slowly from the bottom of
Speaker 1: my lungs and felt the touch of my clothes against
Speaker 1: my skin. That's when I realized I could hear water moving.
Speaker 1: With my eyes closed, I turned my head slowly from
Speaker 1: side to side till I could locate the faint murmur.
Speaker 1: Then I blinked my eyes open and headed down the
Speaker 1: trail in front of me. It curved around a low hill,
Speaker 1: and I had to pick my way across a muddy patch.
Speaker 1: The sound of the water was growing loud, and soon
Speaker 1: I could spot a creek trickling away beside me. Tiny
Speaker 1: rivulets born of a spring somewhere unseen were feeding it,
Speaker 1: And as I walked on, the water grew wider and
Speaker 1: deeper in the thick of the trees. I couldn't see
Speaker 1: how or if I would cross it. Then suddenly ahead
Speaker 1: of me appeared a bridge spanning the water. It wasn't
Speaker 1: a large bridge. A dozen steps would take me across it,
Speaker 1: but it looked like it had been made originally of
Speaker 1: stones and reinforced sometime recently with lumber that was fading
Speaker 1: from gold to gray in the open air. I was
Speaker 1: struck by how far out into the woods I was,
Speaker 1: how much work it must have taken to bring these
Speaker 1: materials out here, and the tools to affix them, and
Speaker 1: it was just done so fellow hikers on the trail
Speaker 1: could cross from one bank to another. Strangers who'd never
Speaker 1: know who those bridge builders were, would be able to
Speaker 1: keep walking. And that had been enough of a reason
Speaker 1: to spend the time, the effort, the sweat of difficult work,
Speaker 1: and the gloomy days of winter. I could lose track
Speaker 1: of this truth that there are many, many kind humans
Speaker 1: looking out for others simply because they feel they should.
Speaker 1: I stepped up on to the planks and came to
Speaker 1: the middle of the bridge, leaning my elbows on the
Speaker 1: railing and looking down at the water slipping past. Spring
Speaker 1: melt was flowing under my feet, and I wondered where
Speaker 1: the snowflakes had fallen that were now this water miles
Speaker 1: from here, and where had that water been before? In
Speaker 1: clouds over another continent, rushing through a waterfall, caught in
Speaker 1: a backyard bird bath. Was there any part of the
Speaker 1: earth that hadn't touched I stayed for a while, thinking
Speaker 1: my curious thoughts and feeling the sun warmed my face.
Speaker 1: Eventually I stepped off the other end of the bridge
Speaker 1: and kept walking. I knew these paths all looped back
Speaker 1: around to the trailhead, and that sooner or later I'd
Speaker 1: be back where I started, But I'd be leaving with
Speaker 1: a full cup, lungs full of fresh air, body warmed
Speaker 1: with exercise, mind calmed from time spent with trees and
Speaker 1: moving water, an heart lifted by the kindness of friends
Speaker 1: I hadn't yet met. The bridge In the woods, there
Speaker 1: is a path behind the library, edged with fallen logs,
Speaker 1: that winds deep into the woods. In some places it's
Speaker 1: laid with wood chips, and in others the bare ground
Speaker 1: and tree roots show through it, splits and branches. And
Speaker 1: though I think I have walked every one of the
Speaker 1: trails that emerge from it, I don't pretend to know
Speaker 1: all the secrets of those acres. We were in a
Speaker 1: warm spell of early spring that could easily tip right
Speaker 1: back into winter. At any time, the wind had been
Speaker 1: blowing and brisk for a few days, and the mud
Speaker 1: left after the last snow had melted was drying up.
Speaker 1: Then today the sun had come out and the wind
Speaker 1: had died down. I hadn't realized until I felt the
Speaker 1: bright light on my face how badly I needed it.
Speaker 1: It felt like we had had more than our fair
Speaker 1: share of gray, dull days lately, and I had been
Speaker 1: focused on keeping my head down and trudging through the
Speaker 1: sunshine had instantly boosted my mood. I'd stood at the
Speaker 1: kitchen sink, my teacup steaming beside me, and smiled so
Speaker 1: easily at the bright day. My heart was lighter when
Speaker 1: my body eager to get outside and move a bit.
Speaker 1: So I'd tied on my boots and come to this
Speaker 1: past behind the library. There was a little sign at
Speaker 1: the trailhead saying that it was cared for by the
Speaker 1: friends of the library, and that all were welcome to
Speaker 1: enjoy the paths. I smiled, thinking that I had a
Speaker 1: lot of good friends in my life, But is there
Speaker 1: a better friend than the library? Books, periodicals, movies, and
Speaker 1: a trail to Hikon. I'd found out recently. They even
Speaker 1: had appliances and tools. You could check out sewing machines
Speaker 1: and telescopes and guitars and jigsaws, all for free with
Speaker 1: your library card. One of the librarians had even helped
Speaker 1: me archive my family photos, and once when I'd been
Speaker 1: overwhelmed and anxious made phone calls for me to renew
Speaker 1: a prescription and make a doctor's appointment. I decided I
Speaker 1: should become an official friend of the library, join this group,
Speaker 1: and help to care for the trails. Setting out, the
Speaker 1: ground springy and the air smelled half of frozen leaves
Speaker 1: and bare branches, and half of moving water and moss.
Speaker 1: And because of those bare branches, the sunlight made it
Speaker 1: all the way down to me, even as I got
Speaker 1: deeper into the trees. I took a right at a
Speaker 1: fork in the path and followed it around a grove
Speaker 1: of birches. There were snowdrops growing around their trunks, and
Speaker 1: I stopped to wonder if they had just come out today,
Speaker 1: if mine were the first eyes to behold them. At
Speaker 1: the next fork, I turned to the left, wanting to
Speaker 1: stay in the deepest part of the woods for as
Speaker 1: long as possible. There was a fallen, hollowed out tree
Speaker 1: that was big enough for me to sit in. Though
Speaker 1: I stayed to the path, the sound of a woodpecker
Speaker 1: at work echoed around me, and high in the branches,
Speaker 1: I could see birds and squirrels busy with their chores.
Speaker 1: I wondered if they felt like I did when the
Speaker 1: sun hit them this morning, inspired to take a break
Speaker 1: from hibernation and move their little bodies. It sounded by
Speaker 1: the bird song and schiittering that they had at the
Speaker 1: next time fork. I stood still a moment and closed
Speaker 1: my eyes. Which way, I asked myself. All of the
Speaker 1: paths so far had been familiar. Those birch trees that
Speaker 1: fallen trunk, I'd seen them before. I wondered if there
Speaker 1: was something still to discover out here. I resisted the
Speaker 1: urge to just move, to turn and go on, and
Speaker 1: kept the weight balanced across my feet. I breathed slowly
Speaker 1: from the bottoms of my lungs and felt the touch
Speaker 1: of my clothes against my skin. That's when I realized
Speaker 1: I could hear water moving. With my eyes still closed,
Speaker 1: I turned my head slowly from side to side till
Speaker 1: I could locate the faint murmur. Then I blinked my
Speaker 1: eyes open, and headed down the trail in front of me.
Speaker 1: It curved around a low hill and I had to
Speaker 1: pick my way across a muddy patch. The sound of
Speaker 1: the water was growing louder, and soon I could spot
Speaker 1: a creek trickling away beside me. Tiny rivulets born of
Speaker 1: a spring somewhere unseen were feeding it, and as I
Speaker 1: walked on, the water grew wider and deeper in the
Speaker 1: thick of the trees. I couldn't see how or if
Speaker 1: I would cross it. Then suddenly ahead of me appeared
Speaker 1: a bridge spanning the water. It wasn't a large bridge,
Speaker 1: A dozen steps would take me across it, but it
Speaker 1: looked like it had been made originally of stones and
Speaker 1: reinforced some time recently with lumber that was fading from
Speaker 1: gold to gray in the open air. I was struck
Speaker 1: with how far out into the woods I was, how
Speaker 1: much work it must have taken to bring these materials
Speaker 1: out here, the tools to affix them, And it was
Speaker 1: done just so that fellow hikers on the trail could
Speaker 1: cross from one bank to another. Strangers who'd never know
Speaker 1: who these bridge builders were, would be able to keep walking,
Speaker 1: And that was enough of a reason to spend the time,
Speaker 1: the effort, the sweat of difficult work. In the gloomy
Speaker 1: days of winter, I could lose track of this truth,
Speaker 1: that there were many, many kind humans looking out for
Speaker 1: others simply because they felt they should. I stepped up
Speaker 1: onto the planks and came to the middle of the bridge,
Speaker 1: leaning my elbows on the railing and looking down at
Speaker 1: the water slipping past. Spring melt was flowing under my feet,
Speaker 1: and I wondered where the snowflakes had fallen that were
Speaker 1: now this water miles from here? And where had that
Speaker 1: water been before? And clouds over another continent rushing through
Speaker 1: a waterfall caught in a back yard bird bath. Was
Speaker 1: there any part of the earth it hadn't touched. I
Speaker 1: stayed for a while, thinking my curious thoughts and feeling
Speaker 1: the sun warm my face. Eventually I stepped off the
Speaker 1: other end of the bridge and kept walking. I knew
Speaker 1: these paths all looped back around to the trailhead, and
Speaker 1: that sooner or later I'd be back where I started,
Speaker 1: but I'd be leaving with a full cup, lungs full
Speaker 1: of fresh air, body warmed with exercise, mind calmed from
Speaker 1: time spent with the trees and the moving water, and
Speaker 1: heart lifted by the kyiness of friends I hadn't yet met.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams,