With You Until Sleep — 23 : The Folly in the Garden | A Deeply Calming Sleep Story

Drift into deep rest with this somatic sleep podcast designed to help settle the nervous system, quiet racing thoughts, and support natural sleep. With a calming ASMR-style female voice, this episode offers gentle bedtime storytelling and a soft, soothing presence to help you disengage from overthinking and ease into sleep.

This sleep podcast is ideal for anyone who struggles with insomnia, nighttime anxiety, restlessness, or waking up in the middle of the night. The episode creates a peaceful, pressure-free space where you can simply listen, relax, and let go. Whether you need help falling asleep fast or returning to sleep after waking, this calming sleep audio is here to support you.

Featuring a tranquil story about the Folly, a quiet, Asian-inspired pavilion in the Manor House garden at night, this episode is meant to gently occupy the mind without stimulation, giving your body and nervous system permission to unwind. There’s nothing to do, nothing to fix, and nothing to get right tonight — just rest.

Perfect for:

• Sleep meditation
• ASMR for sleep
• Nervous system regulation
• Insomnia relief
• Anxiety at night
• Relaxing bedtime storytelling
• Falling back asleep

Let the sound of a gentle female voice guide you toward peace, ease, and deep sleep.

To get the most out of this episode:

• Listen somewhere you feel safe and comfortable
• You can use headphones or play it softly in the room
• Let yourself drift in and out of awareness
• If you fall asleep, that’s perfect
• If you don’t, that’s okay too

There’s no right way for this to work.

With You Until Sleep is written and read by me, Sky — a real human, a Focusing practitioner, and somatic guide. These recordings are shaped by years of working with emotional safety and the nervous system.

New episodes are released regularly.

If you’d like an ad-free listening experience and access to longer companion episodes and members-only recordings, there’s an optional membership — or buy me a cup of tea Support With You Until Sleep

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Thank you for being here.

I’ll be with you until sleep.

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[0:00] Hello, this is Sky. You're hearing my own voice. I'll be here with you until sleep. You don't need to listen closely. You can drift off whenever you like. There's nothing to get right tonight. For now, just let yourself be held by the sound of my voice. Let's begin. If this podcast has been keeping you company at night, and you'd like to support me directly, membership is a beautiful way to do that. It includes ad-free listening and exclusive sleep stories, and it helps me continue sharing these calm little spaces with you. The link is in the description.

[1:18] You don't need to listen carefully. There's nothing to remember and nowhere you need to arrive. You might simply allow my voice to become another gentle part of the evening, accompanying you for as long as you happen to notice it, before sleep quietly finds you in its own perfect time. Perhaps you're already beginning to settle. Maybe notice the weight of your body being supported exactly as it is.

[2:09] There's no need to change anything. No need to relax. No need to make anything happen. Sometimes, simply noticing that you are here is already enough.

[2:31] Perhaps there is the feeling of your breathing.

[2:37] Or maybe you don't notice your breath at all. There could be sounds around you or silence.

[2:49] Warmth, coolness, the softness of blankets, the steady rhythm of your own body continuing to care for you without asking anything in return. And maybe, somewhere inside, there is just enough willingness to imagine that we are somewhere else together. Not because we need to escape this moment, but because imagination can sometimes become another gentle doorway into rest. Tonight, I invite you to imagine that we're standing just outside the old manor house. Beside us, warm light still glows through the tall windows. Perhaps somewhere inside, A fire burns quietly in one of the drawing rooms.

[4:09] Maybe someone has just closed a heavy oak door. The sounds are already becoming distant. The house itself seems content to settle into the evening. Ahead of us stretches the garden, not formal in every place. Not perfectly trimmed. Rather, it has grown into itself over many centuries. Each generation leaving something behind. A tree planted. A stone moved. A path worn smooth by countless footsteps. Perhaps tonight, The air carries that gentle fragrance that often arrives after a warm day. The scent of earth slowly releasing the heat it has been holding. Fresh grass, lavender, old roses climbing ancient walls.

[5:38] Maybe there is the faint sweetness of honeysuckle drifting almost unnoticed on the breeze. You don't have to imagine every detail. Whatever arrives is perfectly enough. And if nothing arrives at all, that is equally welcome. Perhaps we begin walking not with any destination we urgently need to reach, just walking because walking feels like the natural thing to do the gravel beneath our feet makes the softest crunch.

[6:32] Slow slow, even, patient, each step almost becoming part of the rhythm of your own breathing. Maybe the garden itself seems to slow time. It feels impossible to hurry here. The old trees certainly are not in a hurry. Some of them have stood here for hundreds of years. They've watched seasons arrive and disappear.

[7:18] They've watched children become adults. Gardeners come and go. Wars begin and end, somewhere far beyond these peaceful walls. Yet the trees simply continue, growing, resting, standing.

[7:50] Perhaps there is something reassuring about that. Knowing that not everything asks us to move quickly. Not everything demands our attention. Some things simply remain. We continue along the winding path. Not straight. Never quite revealing everything ahead. The path seems to enjoy a little mystery, every gentle bend offering another quiet surprise. To one side grows an enormous cedar. Its branches sweep almost to the ground.

[8:52] Perhaps they create a small hidden room beneath them. A place where children once played imaginary adventures. Or where someone many years ago simply sat alone with a book on a warm afternoon. Maybe the cedar remembers every visitor, Not with words But in its own slow language Of roots and rings and seasons Nearby, ferns uncurl beneath its shade Moss covers old stones, tiny mushrooms gather where fallen branches slowly return to the earth, nothing here seems wasted even what has fallen becomes nourishment, perhaps there is something quietly comforting in that thought.

[10:16] That nature rarely speaks of endings. Instead, she whispers about changing forms. Transformation. Rest.

[10:34] Renewal. We walk a little further. The evening birds are beginning their final conversations before darkness settles completely. Blackbirds sing from hidden branches. A robin offers one last delicate melody. Somewhere high above, perhaps a tawny owl has not quite begun its night's work, but waits patiently in silence. The whole garden feels suspended between day and night, neither one nor the other a beautiful in-between place, maybe you notice how your own thoughts have begun to soften, not disappearing just becoming a little quieter like voices heard from another room, nothing needing to be solved tonight, nothing asking for answers perhaps the path narrows now.

[12:03] Wildflowers grow close along either side. Fox gloves standing like elegant candles. Soft white daisies. Blue cornflowers gently moving with the breeze. Small butterflies still linger in the last golden light. One lands briefly upon a blossom Before floating away again Seemingly without effort It never appears to rush.

[12:49] Its journey unfolds one tiny movement at a time. Maybe your own evening can unfold that way too. Without needing to know every step ahead. Only this moment. Only this breath. Only this quiet path beneath your feet. We pass beneath an old stone archway, almost hidden by climbing roses. The blossoms are slightly faded now, their brightest days already behind them. Yet perhaps they are somehow even more beautiful now. petals loosening, fragrance deepening, nothing trying to remain exactly as it was nature seems very comfortable with change, perhaps much more comfortable than we often are.

[14:09] The path curves gently beyond the roses. And there, far in the distance, barely visible between the trees, you catch your first glimpse of tonight's destination. The folly. Not large. Not grand. Almost playful, its roof rises in elegant curved lines unlike the manor itself.

[14:55] The silhouette hints at distant countries and forgotten journeys. Long ago, someone must have dreamed of another part of the world and brought that dream home. Not to imitate perfectly, but simply to honor beauty wherever it might be found. From here, it appears almost hidden Half embraced by ancient yew trees Partially veiled by climbing ivy.

[15:37] Perhaps, if you had walked a different path You might never have discovered it at all, Some places seem to enjoy being found slowly Maybe the folly is one of them. We are in no hurry to arrive. Instead, perhaps we wander a little further through the garden, passing an old stone sundial whose shadow has now disappeared into evening. Nearby stands a weathered bench it's wood silvered by rain and sunshine over countless years, perhaps someone sat here yesterday or 50 years ago or 200 years ago watching exactly the same sky Bye.

[16:46] Listening to birdsong, remarkably unchanged across generations. There's something rather lovely about sharing places with people we will never meet. Each of us borrowing the same quiet corners for a little while. The breeze stirs gently again. leaves shimmer overhead the branches seem almost to whisper together, not speaking words only that ancient leafy conversation that forests have always known.

[17:35] Maybe if you listen without trying too hard it almost feels as though the garden itself is breathing. A slow inhalation as the wind arrives. A gentle exhalation as it passes on. And perhaps, without making any effort, your own breathing begins to find the same easy rhythm. Not because it should only because sometimes our bodies enjoy remembering that they belong to the same world as the trees, the same world as rivers the same world as evening skies, the same world as evening skies.

[18:31] Nothing separate, nothing forced. Simply another small expression of life quietly unfolding. Ahead, the path becomes softer. The gravel gives way to old mossy stones. Here and there, tiny violet have found spaces between them. A little fern reaches out from a crack in the ancient wall everything seems welcomed here even the smallest growing thing, perhaps we slow our pace just a little more.

[19:19] The folly is closer now its curved roof catches the last traces of twilight, One small bronze bell hangs beneath the roofline, still, silent, waiting, not to announce anything, simply resting there, held by time. We will reach it soon. There will be time to explore every quiet corner, to notice its carved beams, its worn stone floor, its peaceful views across the gardens. But perhaps not quite yet.

[20:10] Sometimes arriving slowly allows a place to welcome us in its own gentle way. So for just a little while longer.

[20:23] We simply walk together through the evening garden, one slow step, then another, accompanied by birdsong, soft wind, the fragrance of roses, and the peaceful feeling that, for this moment at least, there's nowhere else either of us needs to be.

[20:52] The manor house behind us is now mostly hidden by ancient trees and the sounds of the world beyond these gardens seem wonderfully far away, we continue walking at an easy pace there is still no hurry, the path beneath our feet feels older here Its stones have settled into the earth over many generations, becoming slightly uneven, softened by moss, edged with tiny plants that have quietly found places to belong. Perhaps you notice how your feet naturally become more attentive on an old path like this, not tense. Just gently aware, each step finding its own place.

[21:54] There can be something surprisingly restful about walking slowly enough to notice where your feet are meeting the ground.

[22:06] Perhaps your shoulders soften a little. Or maybe your jaw loosens. Or perhaps nothing changes at all. Whatever is true for you this evening is perfectly welcome. The folly is now only a short distance ahead. As we come closer, its details begin to emerge from the gathering twilight. Its roof curves upward at each corner in a graceful way that feels almost like a smile.

[22:54] The wooden beams beneath the roof are dark with age, polished smooth by countless seasons of rain. Sunshine, frost, and gentle summer evenings like this one. The design carries echoes of distant places. Long ago, when travelers returned from journeys across oceans, continents, they sometimes brought home not only stories, but inspiration. Architects and gardeners would create small buildings like this, places that suggested another landscape, another culture, another way of seeing beauty.

[23:53] Not exact copies. More like quiet conversations between different worlds. This little folly has stood here for many years, gently blending Eastern inspiration, with the English landscape around it. The result feels peaceful rather than grand. Curious rather than imposing perhaps that's one of the reasons it has always been loved it invites wonder rather than admiration.

[24:37] We pass beneath a pair of old flowering cherry trees, although their blossoms have long since drifted away their branches still hold an elegant shape against the evening sky, perhaps in springtime, this whole corner of the garden becomes a cloud of pale pink petals. Today, only the leaves remain, gently moving in the breeze, and somehow, they are beautiful too. Nature never insists upon permanent blooming. She allows every season its own quiet gift.

[25:29] Maybe there's something deeply reassuring in remembering that.

[25:35] Not every season asks us to blossom. Some ask us simply to grow roots. Others ask us to rest. Some invite us to let go. All of them belong. As we draw nearer, we notice that the folly sits beside a small ornamental pond. The water is almost perfectly still.

[26:10] Only now and then does a tiny ripple spread across its surface. Perhaps a fish has risen briefly from below, or a dragonfly has touched the water with delicate wings. The reflections are so clear that the curved roof of the folly seems to exist twice, once above, once below almost as though another little building lives beneath the surface of the pond, you might pause here for a moment there's no need to speak perhaps you simply notice the reflections, The way the sky rests upon the water. The trees standing upside down beneath the surface. Clouds becoming gentle brush strokes.

[27:20] Sometimes still water becomes a mirror. Sometimes it becomes a window. And perhaps tonight it's a little bit of both. Nearby grows a graceful Japanese maple. Its finely shaped leaves seem almost to float even while attached to the branches. In daylight, they might glow with shades of crimson and bronze.

[27:57] Now, beneath the evening sky, they appear almost like delicate lace. The breeze moves through them with such gentleness that they seem to whisper rather than rustle. Perhaps they're sharing little secrets with the pond, or thanking the wind for visiting. a smooth stone path crosses the water, large flat stepping stones have been placed just beneath the surface creating a simple crossing, the water laps quietly around their edges I invite you to imagine stepping carefully across them one stone then another, one foot finding balance then the next.

[29:01] The water reflects stars that are only just beginning to appear overhead, for a moment it almost feels as though you're walking across the evening sky itself, when we reach the other side the folly welcomes us without ceremony, its entrance has no heavy door.

[29:31] Only wide open arches supported by beautifully carved wooden pillars. The craftsmanship is exquisite without being extravagant. Tiny carvings of leaves. Clouds. Birds. Flowing water. Each detail softened by time. Some have become almost impossible to distinguish after decades of gentle weathering. Yet perhaps that makes them even lovelier. Age has not taken beauty away.

[30:21] It simply changed its expression. We step inside. The floor is cool stone. Smoothed by generations of quiet visitors.

[30:39] The roof overhead creates a wonderful feeling of shelter while remaining open to the gardens around us. The evening air moves freely through every archway. There's no sense of being enclosed, only gently held. The wooden beams overhead fit together with remarkable elegance. No part seems to compete with another. Everything supports everything else. Perhaps there's something comforting about that too. Not one beam carrying the whole roof. Many pieces working together. Strength through quiet cooperation. At the very center of the folly stands a circular stone bench. Its surface has been polished by time. Around its edge, someone has carved a simple inscription many years ago. The words have faded now. Only fragments remain. Peace. Stillness. All seasons.

[32:08] The rest has disappeared into history, and somehow that feels rather fitting not every message needs to remain complete, sometimes a few gentle words are enough perhaps we take a seat together, there's no rush to explore.

[32:38] The stone is pleasantly cool beneath us. The air carries the fragrance of jasmine climbing one of the outer pillars. Somewhere close by, night-scented flowers are beginning to open. Plants that wait patiently all day before offering their perfume to the evening. There's a certain wisdom in that. Knowing exactly when to unfold. Not before. Not after. Only when the moment feels right.

[33:28] Perhaps your own life has seasons like that too. Times when everything seems quietly hidden beneath the surface. And other moments when something inside naturally begins to bloom without being forced. As we sit together, the sounds around us become even more noticeable. Not louder, simply clearer. The tiny chorus of crickets beginning their nightly song, leaves moving high above, a distant owl calling softly across the grounds, the occasional gentle splash from the pond.

[34:24] The entire garden seems to breathe in one slow, unhurried rhythm. Maybe your own breathing joins it for a little while. We remain here in comfortable silence. There's absolutely nothing to achieve, nothing to understand, nothing to improve. Perhaps your thoughts continue to drift past like clouds, one arriving another leaving.

[35:05] Some large, some small each one changing shape as it goes, you do not need to follow them and there is no need to stop them either. Just as we watch birds cross the sky or leaves floating upon the pond, thoughts, too, can be allowed their own gentle movements.

[35:41] Simply noticing, and then allowing your attention to return to the cool evening air touching your face, or the scent of jasmine, or the comforting solidity of the stone bench beneath you. Our attention doesn't have to become trapped. It can wander kindly returning again and again to whatever feels supportive, the little bronze bell hanging beneath the roof catches the breeze for the first time, it doesn't ring loudly only the softest note a single delicate sound, almost more silence than music it fades quickly into the evening, leaving the garden somehow feeling even more peaceful than before.

[36:52] No one rushes to create another sound, the bell seems perfectly content with just one quiet no, perhaps there's something lovely about that.

[37:12] Beyond the arches, the first stars are beginning to appear, one by one, patiently, without any need for applause, simply arriving in their own time. And together, we remain here a little longer, letting the quietness of the folly become familiar, as though it's been waiting for us all along. We remain seated a little while longer. There's no signal telling us when it's time to move. No clock urging us onward. Only the gentle feeling that this little shelter has welcomed us exactly as we are. Perhaps you notice how different it feels to be somewhere that asks nothing of you, nothing to accomplish nothing to prove nothing to become the old folly seems entirely content simply to offer shelter.

[38:32] Not because the weather demands it but because sometimes it's enough to have a place where one may simply rest for a while, one arch looks toward the pond where the water now reflects a sky as deepened into velvet blue.

[38:57] Another looks toward a winding path, disappearing beneath ancient beech trees. A third opens onto a meadow where tall grasses move together like waves upon a quiet sea. Each view is complete in itself, none more important than the other. The breeze shifts again. this time it carries the fragrance of damp earth earlier the warmth of the day still lingered in the soil, now the evening dew has begun its gentle work, tiny droplets gather almost invisibly upon blades of grass upon fern fronds upon rose leaves.

[39:56] Upon spider's silk stretch carefully between two branches, tomorrow morning when the sun returns every droplet will catch the light for a few brief moments before quietly disappearing, a small movement catches the corner of your eye near the edge of the pond a hedgehog emerges from beneath a cluster of broad green leaves. It pauses, its tiny nose gently testing the evening air. Perhaps it has followed the same little path through the garden for many nights, never in a hurry, always curious. It wanders along the edge of the water before disappearing once again beneath the shadows. As quietly as it arrived, The garden seems full of these small lives, mostly unseen.

[41:09] Each following its own gentle rhythm.

[41:16] Somewhere high above, a bat begins its graceful evening flight. Its movements seem almost impossible to predict. Swift, effortless, silent, looping and turning through the fading light as tiny insects dance above the pond. Not far away, perhaps a family of rabbits has ventured out from beneath an old hedge.

[41:54] The youngest pause often, standing very still, listening, then hopping forward again with surprising confidence. There's something deeply peaceful about places where animals feel safe enough simply to go about their lives. The folly has become part of that landscape now, birds perch upon its roof moss grows beneath the stones climbing plants gently embrace its pillars, the building does not seem to resist nature it lives alongside her, perhaps that is part of its quiet beauty me.

[42:49] We rise from the stone bench, not because we must, only because curiosity gently invites us to explore. The floor of the folly forms a perfect circle. Around its edge stand eight carved wooden pillars, each one slightly different. No two carvings are exactly alike. One is wrapped with flowing vines. Another carries delicate blossoms. One seems almost to tell the story of clouds drifting above mountains.

[43:38] Another shows graceful cranes standing beside reeds. Nothing feels hurried. Every carving seems to have been made by hands Willing to spend many patient hours With a single piece of wood, Perhaps we slowly walk around The inside of the folly.

[44:04] Running our fingers lightly along the smooth timber. Feeling the tiny changes in texture. Places where rain has polished the grain.

[44:20] Other places where sunshine has warmed the surface year after year. The wood feels alive somehow. now, not despite its age, because of it. Perhaps one pillar draws your attention, a little more than the others. Its carving shows bamboo reaching upward, each slender stem bending gently in the wind, never rigid never resisting simply moving with whatever weather arrives, bamboo has often been admired not because it's unbreakable but because it knows how to bend perhaps there is wisdom there, there are times when strength looks like standing firm And there are other times, when strength quietly becomes flexibility, allowing the wind to pass through, trusting that stillness will return.

[45:42] Outside, the moon has risen above the trees, not yet high in the sky, only just clearing the branches of an ancient oak. Its pale light touches the roof of the folly, silver replacing gold. The pond becomes luminous, each ripple carrying fragments of moonlight across the water. The stars above have multiplied, almost without us noticing. It's curious how evening arrives. Not all at once, but one quiet change after another.

[46:30] We step through one of the open arches and find ourselves standing beside the pond once again. The water lilies have closed for the night. Their broad green leaves float peacefully upon the surface. Beneath them, fish move like quiet shadows, almost invisible. Dragonflies have given way to moths now. Soft, pale wings flutter among the jasmine blossoms. A white moth settles briefly upon a nearby stone. We follow a narrow path that circles behind the folly. Few visitors ever wander here. The grass grows a little longer. Fox gloves sway gently in the evening breeze. An old stone lantern stands beneath an acer tree, its candle long since gone yet the lantern remains life has found a way to belong.

[47:50] I invite you to notice how the evening has become wonderfully spacious. Nothing is rushed. Even silence seems generous here. Perhaps your thoughts are now further apart than they were when we first entered the garden. Like clouds drifting across a wide summer sky, there's more space between them. more quiet. And if your mind is still busy, that is perfectly welcome to. Busy minds also deserve peaceful gardens. As we slowly make our way back toward the front of the folly once more, the bronze bell overhead catches the breeze again. This time, its single note lingers just a little longer, clear gentle then fading into the great welcoming silence of the sleeping garden, and we pause there together listening not only to the bell but the quiet that lovingly receives it.

[49:14] We remain standing for another quiet moment, listening as the last trace of the bell disappears into the stillness. It's remarkable how a single gentle sound can leave such a spacious silence behind it. Perhaps the silence was always there. The bell simply helped us notice it. The moon has climbed a little higher now. And its soft silver light rests upon the curved roof of the folly. The carved beams cast delicate shadows onto the stone floor and the pond reflects both moon and stars, holding them with such steadiness that it almost seems as though the sky has come down to rest upon the earth. We have been welcomed here without a single word without expectation, without needing to earn our place and perhaps that's one of the reasons places like this remain in people's hearts for so many years, not because they impress us but because they allow us simply to be.

[50:41] I invite you to take one last slow look around.

[50:48] Perhaps your eyes rest upon the graceful curve of the roof. Or the wooden pillars, each carrying its own patient story. Maybe you notice the jasmine climbing quietly toward the eaves. Or the pond, now darker and deeper, almost mysterious beneath the moonlight. Or the gentle maple tree whose leaves still move with the smallest whisper of wind. There's no right detail to remember. Sometimes a place leaves us with only a feeling, and that feeling stays much longer than any picture. We begin to walk once more.

[51:45] Continuing the evening, the old stone path greets our footsteps again. Its surface has become cool beneath the night air. Our pace remains slow, unhurried, perhaps even slower than before. As though the garden itself has taught us something about moving gently through the world. The folly grows smaller behind us. The roof appears now between the branches of the cherry trees, then partly behind the cedar, then only the faintest outline against the sky. Eventually, it disappears from view altogether. And yet, it doesn't really feel as though we left it.

[52:46] The path leads us once more alongside the pond. The reflections have changed. The stars seem brighter now. A tiny breeze creates ripples that gently stretch the moonlight into long ribbons of silver. Perhaps every garden has its own bedtime story, not told with words, but with leaves, water, wind, moonlight, and silence. We continue along the winding path. The foxgloves now appear almost ghostly beneath the moon.

[53:34] Their tall stems glowing softly. The white flowers seem to gather the light, and offer it back to the evening. A moth drifts lazily from blossom to blossom. Ahead, the great cedar waits beneath the stars. Earlier it welcomed us into the garden. Now it quietly accompanies us home. Its enormous branches spread like welcoming arms the scent of cedar is richer in the cool night air fresh, earthy, steady.

[54:21] I like to imagine that every one of us has a place like the folly somewhere inside ourselves, not hidden because it's afraid simply tucked gently away from all the noise, a place where nothing needs fixing, nothing needs proving nothing needs defending only a place where we can sit for a while listening to the breeze, watching reflections upon still water allowing the seasons of our lives, to move through us with the same quiet wisdom that we have seen in this old garden. Perhaps you don't need to search for that place. Maybe it already knows where you are. Maybe every time you soften your shoulders or notice your breathing.

[55:35] Or feel the support beneath your body. You're already finding the path that leads there. And perhaps that path becomes a little easier to recognize each time you walk it. Now, as our evening together comes to a close, I invite you to notice once again, the gentle support beneath you. The weight of your body held without effort. Perhaps your breathing has become slower, or perhaps it has simply become familiar again. Maybe your eyes feel heavy, and maybe your thoughts have become quieter too.

[56:29] Or maybe they're still drifting here and there, like leaves on a gentle breeze. However you find yourself is completely enough. There's nowhere else you need to arrive. Nothing left to do. The garden will keep watch through the night. The old cedar continues standing beneath the stars. The pond will continue reflecting the moon the jasmine will continue offering its sweet fragrance to the darkness and the little folly, the little folly will continue waiting peacefully among the trees ready to welcome whoever arrives with gentle footsteps and an open heart, Thank you for walking with me this evening, As sleep begins to draw a little closer Perhaps you can allow yourself to drift, Knowing there's nothing more you need to carry Everything else can wait till morning, Sleep well, my friend and thank you for letting me be with you until sleep.