Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - A Night in Sleepy Hollow (Encore)

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Starting point is 00:01:53 My name's Thomas and I'm your host. Thanks so much for being here. Tonight, we have another golden oldie, one of Shady's excellent Halloween-themed episodes, which she really is quite the specialist at writing. We'll make our way to the legendary village of Sleepy Hollow in New York. There will be no sudden scares or pranks, just the stories and myths that fill this enchanted town. So, make sure you're tucked up, and comfortably. Relax your body, letting go of tension, as you breathe slowly and gently. And in your mind's eye, picture the quaint village we're about to arrive in. Looking down, you see that you're standing on a paved road leading into this curious little town. The way is dark and quiet,

Starting point is 00:03:14 There are no other travellers to be seen, and this is where our story begins. Brown leaves and twigs are scattered here and there across the pavement, which is damp from a passing storm. Above you, the sky is a shadowy grey. It is tinted in places with the deep blue that marks the tuxing blue that marks the tally grey. twilight hours. Looking toward the horizon, you see the sun has already set. Only a narrow fringe of reddish-orange implies its presence out of sight. The clouds above hang low and heavy. Night is on the way. The road is bordered on one side by an open, grassy expanse. This far into fall, the grass is mostly brown and yellow.

Starting point is 00:04:55 The first frost has already made an appearance on the landscape, bringing with it a hint of the colder months ahead. There are no ice crystals on the ground this evening. But in the mornings, you imagine there might be touches of pearly white, on whatever green remains. On the other side, the road is, lined with craggy trees, whose bare branches reach toward the grey sky at odd angles. Beyond them, the horizon is a royal blue, with the last remaining light at their backs. They cut

Starting point is 00:05:44 dark silhouettes against the fading sky. A gentle breeze flutters the solitary leaves, clinging to their topmost branches. The cool air sends a tingle down your spine. You are grateful for your thick scarf and warm jacket and pull them closer around your neck and shoulders. You are curious about the town that lies ahead. With the sky growing darker, it would be cozy to be surrounded by shops and homes and the soft glow of lamps within. Heading down the road, you're aware of your footfalls in the otherwise quiet air. You hear the soles of your shoes, padding softly on the pavement, and fall into a rhythm with your heartbeat, right foot, then left foot.

Starting point is 00:06:59 They carry you closer to the village. As you approach, you can just begin to make out what looks like a sign up ahead. It stands out in relief against the illuminated backdrop of the buildings. Closer now, you see it is in the shape of an unfurling banner, held up by tall square posts on either side. It is painted a dark greenish blue. with shiny gold lettering. Small globes top the posts and catch the light. You can see that someone has tied clusters of thin brown corn stalks to the posts.

Starting point is 00:08:00 Their dry, ribbed leaves rustle against each other and lightly tap the sign with every soft gust of wind. Below them are two large large, pumpkins, which rest heavily on mounds of straw, you reach out and brush your fingertips against the bold lettering. The sign is cool in the night air. Welcome to historic sleepy hollow, it reads. As you speak the words, you realize they are familiar to you.

Starting point is 00:08:48 They summon visions of dark nights and forbidding woods. This village is home to the legend which bears its name, where folklore and landscape are intertwined. You are in sleepy hollow, the place made famous by Washington Irving's classic tale. It was here that Icobod Crane fell in love. with Katrina Van Tassel and crossed paths with the headless horseman. This little town lies north of New York City on the banks of the Hudson River. But although the Grand Metropolis is not far away, the hustle and bustle of city life has no place on this quiet shore. This is a landscape of wild forests, and old stone walls of whispering streams and fallen leaves that blanket the ground.

Starting point is 00:10:11 In autumn, this sleepy village comes into its own and imagination takes root in the shade of every tree. Jackalantons flash their flickering grins in windows and on porches. Cornstalks rustle and the river babbles in its own timeless tale as it passes by. It is this sound that beckons you first. You hear it now as a distant rushing, a current underlying all the other sounds that punctuate the night. Turning, you head towards it. You leave the pavement and cross over brown grass dotted with small puddles. You walk up narrow hills and fill your heels, grip the incline as you head back down.

Starting point is 00:11:22 With every footfall, you grow more lost in thought. On a night like tonight, what mysteries await a curious traveller in sleepy hollow? What stories have yet to be told? What tales are yet to unfold? It is the growing sound of the Hudson that brings you back to your path. You find yourself standing at the river's edge, looking out across the dark expanse of water. On the other side lies neighbouring New Jersey.

Starting point is 00:12:10 The Hudson traces its 300-mile path from the Adirondack Mountains to New York Bay between the two states. You could see across it in daylight, but at night the view is obscured by a layer of mist. You imagine you can hear the faintest sounds of evening life in the distance. But perhaps it's only your imagination. An old lighthouse overlooks this part of the river. From here it appears to cling to a rocky islet just offshore. But you realise the rocks are a small breakwater and the lighthouse itself stands on the river bottom.

Starting point is 00:13:14 A metal footbridge curves up from the beach, nearby and over the short expanse of water, dipping down again near the structure, you've never seen a lighthouse quite like this one before. It has a red base and white top, which lends the appearance of an oversized floating boy rather than a tower. The white is grey and brown in places, where the paint is showing its age. Today, many people call this the Sleepy Hollow Lighthouse. But it is also called the Tarry Town or Kingsland Point Light. It was built in the 1880s to warm boats away from the shoals near Tarrytown and Ossening.

Starting point is 00:14:20 While it's no longer in use, it now stands on the National Rural. register of historic places. And it transports onlookers back to a bygone era when merchant ships frequented this passageway. As you gaze out over the inky water, a breeze nudges you back toward town. It's time to move on from this place. You follow its gentle coaxing to a water to a water-side path, which leads away from the darkened tower behind you, it meanders along the river's edge, looping back on itself quietly, and straightening out again as it weaves around grassy knolls. You pass the lazy curve of Kingsland Point, and then come to a crossing. Here, a stream flows to its meeting point with the Hudson. You feel drawn to its crystal waters that rush and babble over smooth

Starting point is 00:15:41 rocks and fallen logs. For just a moment, you stand and listen to its soothing murmurs. Before continuing on your way, between the river's edge and the forest, there is a long set of train tracks. From here, looking out in either direction, the tracks seem to stretch to the horizon. Sleak metal rails catch the light, and glint like a silver spoon, turned this way and that. You cross the tracks and leave the rushing of the Hudson River behind you. The glow of the town centre draws you toward it. the walk back into town is calm and restful. For the most part, you see that you are making your way through a residential area.

Starting point is 00:17:01 Older houses stand on lots with greenery on all sides. Large front lawns set them slightly back from the street, which lends a sense of privacy. Tall trees line the road in the road. places. Autumn shows its hand in the piles of leaves that have been raked together in the grass. And many more leaves in brown, yellow, orange and red, carpet the road itself. The heady scent of wet leaves mixes with the smell of damp pavement. Fall is in the air, you think. It fills your senses as the last whisper of the passing year before winter brings short days and long nights. Every once in a while you walk beneath a large pine tree.

Starting point is 00:18:14 Long sloping branches droop, heavy with needles, some of which have fallen to the ground below. Here your footsteps make a gentle, crushing sense. sound. You can fill the padding of the needles beneath the soles of your shoes. An occasional twig breaks up the soft barrier and snaps underfoot. You pass a series of homes with dark facades, save for a porch light here and there. These little lights cast just enough glow to see the outlines of heavy doors and wooden porches, and the occasional flower garden tucked away for winter. You feel lucky that your eyes have already adjusted to the darkness that surrounds you. Like the sleek and stealthy animals that come out between dusk and dawn,

Starting point is 00:19:28 you feel at home at this time of night. As you make your way through this part of town, you see that some of the buildings around you are older. They have been carefully maintained, in some cases, for centuries. But their age is apparent next to the more modern homes you've passed. After a couple of blocks, you come to, to a small fork in the road.

Starting point is 00:20:09 To the left, a main thoroughfare heads north. To the right, you see the outline of a church, made taller by the length of the shadow it casts. This must be part of the old town, you realise. Some of these buildings date back to the 1600s, and you imagine, If the light were just right, you might feel like you were back there too. You walk a little further until you are standing across the way from the old Dutch church. It is short and squat, and looking at it from here, you can understand how it's withstood the test of time. Slabs of multi-coloured stone make up its base.

Starting point is 00:21:14 On an overcast day, the church walls might look more grey as the slate takes prominence under muted skies, but at sunset it would take on a more peachy yellow hue, warm and welcoming. Above the stone is a sloping grey roof. Viewed from the side, it adds to the shaded palette of the rest of the church. At either end of the building though, there is a bell-shaped area of white below the grey. It is this aspect of the design that shows this church hails from another era. Finally, protruding from one end of the roof is a little open bell tower. It doesn't stand much higher than the roof itself, except for the delicate,

Starting point is 00:22:22 spire that rises toward the treetops. It is capped with a wrought iron weather vein. The original bell still resides in the open belfry and bears the initials of the church's founder. He was the same man responsible for many of the earliest buildings here in Sleapy Hollow in the 1680s and 90s. You can almost hear the clear chime of the bell, rung over this town in days gone by. Around you, the sound of the night is soft and distinctive. The light breeze rustles the trees, whose branches creak under their own weight.

Starting point is 00:23:26 The metal of an old gate squeaks lazily as it opens and, closes with the rhythm of the wind, and behind it all you hear the gentle rushing of water, cascading over smooth rocks. It's the same stream you passed earlier, you realize, at its outlet in the Hudson. Here it meanders through the forest at its own pace, with little patches of rapids where stones form a barrier. You feel the pull of the brook guiding you onto the grounds of the old Dutch church. In order to follow its wandering course, you must turn off the road. You cross the street and find yourself on a concrete bridge above the water. You see a sign marking the way. The Headless

Starting point is 00:24:40 Horseman Bridge, it reads. This is the place where Icobod Crane fled from the mysterious rider at his heels. It is where the rider is said to have thrown a jack-a-lantern at him, its bright face soaring through the night. In his writing, Washington Irving described a wooden bridge that used to stand here, crossing the river by the old church. While that structure did exist on this spot for many years, it was replaced in the early 1900s by this concrete version, with only a sign to mark where it once stood. As you read the sign, the water beckons you further into the wild. You are drawn to the grey and black expanse of the church grounds and whatever lies beyond the trees, you turn away from the sign and the road.

Starting point is 00:26:02 As you shift your direction, the view of the street lingers for just a moment. Then it is replaced by a shadowed mass of trees. Tall, thin trunks stand at attention, like pencils stuck in clay, while many are straight, others curve as they grow, reaching their branches out and over the mossy ground. The deeper you travel into the woods, the closer the trees feel on either side. Your feet pad lightly on the grass and dirt, and the wind is but a whisper here in the protected cover of forest. But there, just ahead, something catches your attention. It's an elegant wooden bridge with crossed logs that spans the length of the stream. It fades seamlessly into the wooded background. You can see the trees between the open lace pattern of the

Starting point is 00:27:29 beams. They aren't polished to a shine, you know, but are still covered in rough, thick bark. As you study this curious bridge, you realise your view is becoming obscured. A thick fog is rolling in. Tendrils of condensation reach out and encircle the beams, like long white fingers. You feel a cool mist upon your cheeks and droplets of moisture forming in your hair. Looking down, you see the dewy droplets on your jacket as well. You pull it closer around you and snuggle your chin down into the thick scarf around

Starting point is 00:28:30 your neck. This fog is strange, you think. It seems to come from the forest itself. As though the trees were laying out a blanket on the ground, it was overcast when you first came to sleepy hollow, but there had been no hint of ground fog before. There seems to be something otherworldly about it, and, just as quickly as it rolled in, it dissipates once again. The tendrils recede back into the trees.

Starting point is 00:29:21 and the blanket lifts from the ground ahead. But while you can see clearly around you now, you notice the fog lingers at the peripheries of your vision. You can feel its presence at the edge of your view. Something has changed. You turn around toward the path you used to get here. Off in the distance, you no longer see the glow of electric, lights from town.

Starting point is 00:30:00 The skyline is dark and cloudy. The trees seem fuller and more prevalent. You retrace your steps until you come to the edge of the churchyard. It is here that you truly see the changes brought by the fog. There are no longer any streetlights dotting the paved road running through town. Now there is only a dirt track worn down by the imprints of many large, thin wheels. The church itself stands almost the same as the way you saw it before. But instead of electric lights, there are lanterns swaying gently in the breeze.

Starting point is 00:31:04 The lanterns are delicate and thin, with metal edges. and glass sides. Inside each, a single white candle flickers, casting its warm glow against its own reflection. There is a lantern hanging in each of the church windows. Several more stand alone on the ground, at each corner of the churchyard and along your path. You watch the tiny flames ripple and flutter, on the blackened wicks. Beside you, the modern bridge is gone. As is the sign marking the place of the infamous scene from legend. In its place, there is an old wooden bridge with weathered planks that covers the stream.

Starting point is 00:32:12 Off in the distance, you hear the clopping of horses' hooves. You stand back from the bridge. and watch as a lonely carriage crosses it, pulled by two black horses. A coachman perches atop a high seat in front of the cab. In his hands he holds a set of long, thin reins. He tips his hat to you as he passes by, and you nod in return. The windows of the carriage are covered in double. dark curtains, so you aren't able to see if there is anyone inside. Not long after, the carriage

Starting point is 00:33:09 rolls out of sight behind the church. In the silence of its wake, you pause to consider where you are. You are still in sleepy hollow. Of that you are sure. But now there are no electric lights and no cars parked on the road. There are no telephone poles or raked leaves. No modern houses or concrete bridges. They have been replaced by lanterns and carriages, dirt tracks and wood. Could it be, you wonder?

Starting point is 00:34:03 Could the fog have transformed this place into the sleepy hollow of old? You cross the Headless Horseman Bridge and follow a dirt path beside the stream, leading away from the church. After just a few minutes, you come to a wide pond where the little river has been reshaped. Off in the distance, you see a set of old-style buildings. There is a sturdy stone manor house with thick walls covered in white paint. Behind it is a large garden which would be filled with planting in the spring. Beside the house is a brown wooden building that appears to be a grist mill.

Starting point is 00:35:11 On the side facing the water there is a large wheel which rocks slowly back and round. forth in the night air. Small lanterns light the way from the water's edge to the house. But you decide not to visit the inhabitants tonight. In this place, out of time, you prefer to observe from a distance. Before now, you hadn't understood how different a time before electricity and modern conveniences would sound. It is truly quiet here, you realize. There is no undercurrent of noise, no distant rumble of car tires on tarmac. There is no electric hum in the air from power lines and light bulbs. There is only the sound of your own gentle breathing and the soft. And the soft soft burbling of the stream, the water lapse at the edges of the pond, and somewhere a small animal

Starting point is 00:36:39 scurries through the trees. You take a deep breath in, relishing the freshness of the cool night air. You hold it for just a moment, and then exhale. the final glance at the house and gristmill. You turn back toward the path to the church. It doesn't take long to make your way up the stream to the mysterious wooden bridge. You step onto it and hear the hollow sound of your footsteps on the weathered boards. Slowly you cross this storied bridge and hear the rushing of the water below you. When you are halfway across, you pause.

Starting point is 00:37:52 Along the path of the stream lies the forest, just beyond the edge of the churchyard lined with delicate lanterns. As you watch, the forest once again releases its strange fog, long tendrils roll and curl across the moss and rock, curving around tree trunks and shrouding the lanterns in white. For a moment you can just make out the wooden planks of the bridge before they too are obscured. You close your eyes briefly and when you open them again,

Starting point is 00:38:49 The fog has lifted. Once again, you find yourself standing on a modern, concrete bridge. Beside the stream is a paved road, with street lamps dotting it every so often. Perhaps it was all a dream, you think. Your imagination, taking hold in this place of legend and story, As you wonder whether you might have imagined the whole thing, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. There, marking the place where the bridge meets the embankment on the other side, is a solitary jack-a-lantern.

Starting point is 00:40:02 You're sure it hadn't been there when you cross this bridge before. Now, it sits at the edge of the expanse. a single candle flickering behind its stoic expression. It glows of vibrant orange against the dark backdrop of this old place. You understand it is time to move on, with a final glance in its direction. You bid this legend, this village, and your journey. journey. Good night.

Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - A Night in Sleepy Hollow (Encore)

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