Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - April Showers

Episode Date: April 27, 2026

Our story tonight is called April Showers, and it’s a story about a cloudy day spent window shopping in the village. It’s also about the lovely sound the point of an umbrella makes against cobblestones, a bicycle ride taken just before the rain falls, and the perfect place to settle in watch once it does.  Subscribe to our ⁠Premium channel.⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 Get 15% off OneSkin with the code NOTHINGMUCH at oneskin.co/NOTHINGMUCH  #oneskinpod We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to ⁠Birdie’s Bookmobile⁠, a non-profit organization committed to ending book deserts and improving children's literacy and book access in Metro Detroit. Pre-Order Links for Kathryn's New Book ⁠⁠Here⁠⁠! ⁠⁠⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! A Playlist full of Marmie, Birdy, and Crumb! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Hi, I'm Catherine Nikolai, and if you're looking for something gentle to listen to that isn't news or true crime or self-improvement, I made this for you. Stories from the Village of Nothing Much is like easy listening, but for fiction. Cozy, warm, calm stories, about ordinary moments that feel a little magical. They're grounding, soothing, and quietly uplifting without being cheesy, relaxing without putting you to sleep, and just dreamy enough to remind you that there's still sweetness in everyday life. Perfect for your commute while you're tidying up,

or when you want a little escape that feels simple and good. Search for stories from the village of Nothing Much, wherever you listen. Welcome. to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

We give to a different charity each week. And this week we are giving to Birdie's BookMobile, a nonprofit organization committed to ending book deserts and improving children's literacy and book access in Metro Detroit. Learn more about them in our show notes. For ad-free episodes, subscribe to our premium feed at nothing much happens.com. This is a form of brain training. We're conditioning a response that will improve over time.

all you need to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Our story tonight is called April Showers, and it's a story about a cloudy day, spent shopping in the village. It's also about the lovely sound the point of an umbrella makes against cobblestones,

a bicycle ride taken just before the rain falls, and the perfect place to settle in and watch once it does. I am a certified skincare fanatic, and I want to share something that I've been using that feels a little different from the usual skin care conversation. One skin is built by longevity researchers, and instead of focusing only on how skin looks, they're looking at how it functions,

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That's 15% off OnSkin.com with code Nothing Much. After you purchase, they'll ask where you heard about them, and you can let them know we sent you. Okay. Lights out, Cambers. It's time. Set everything down. Prioritize your own comfort.

How do you need to arrange yourself to feel the most relaxed? Take those last lingering thoughts and let them go. Let them dissolve. They only have the power you give them. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more.

Breathe in. and out. Good. April showers. I'd brought along my umbrella today. And by the look of the skies this afternoon, it seemed like a wise choice. I had a little collection of umbrellas in the stand by my front door.

I had the standard collapsible kind, the sort that folded up into an astonishingly small package. and could be easily carried in a pocket or a bag. I had a couple of the long standard kind, black fabric and a curved handle, and a neat snap to keep it folded when not in use. And I had a pretty pink one that I'd been given as a child. It was a bit bent from being included in lots of play.

I remember swinging it around by its handle, leaning on it as I danced in my bedroom while imagining myself center stage in a Broadway show. Yes, an umbrella is an excellent prop and one I still like to carry when I was out in the world, especially in the rainy days of spring. I'd selected one of the long, standard ones today, as I left the house.

Its handle was unusual, not a curved loop, but a rounded end, something like a doorknob, but more slender. It was made of polished brass, a tiny globe, with tinier continents embossed into the metal, It fit perfectly in my cupped palm as I walked with it, and I couldn't help but hum under my breath. I've got the whole world in my hand, and it felt like that today. As I walked along the main street, the spring was real now, not fleeting, not disappearing for days at a time. There were crocus and daffodils breaking through the soil in the giant stone planter in the square and downtown. Some shops had their doors propped open to take advantage of the fresh air, and though the gray skies had me certain that rain was coming. It hadn't come yet. It had been a long winter.

and the feeling of spring air in my lungs. The sense and sights of the new season had me feeling cheery and grateful just to be on the street today. I turned down an alley and stopped to window shop. There were bouquets of roses and calla-lilies, already wrapped in pretty paper and tied with bows in the window of the flower shop along the bottom of the sill were a dozen small cacti in tiny pots and I leaned in close to peer at one that had a minuscule pink flower on it.

I wondered how often a cactus might flower and thought it most likely not an everyday happening. Yet here I was to witness it. I smiled at my luck. In the shop across the alley, a bicycle was being wheeled out the front door by a little kid and his dad. The kid was wearing a helmet. so new, there was still a tag dangling from it. He jumped with excitement to climb onto his new bike. His dad put on his own helmet and climbed on to an older, well-used bike, parked in the rack.

I heard Dad say they could go through the park on their way home and ride through the neighborhood of old houses. behind the library, and probably still make it home before the rain came. I watched them ride off and thought I should get my old roller skates out of the basement when I got home. It had been a few years, but I bet I could still T-stop and V-Start and Flamingo with the best of them. At the corner was a shop that sold BurrStart. bird baths and wind chimes and bird feeders. Giant sacks of bird seed were stacked beside the door, and I strolled over, liking the way the point of my umbrella, clacked against the Bluestone walkway.

This little shop was set back, away from the street a little. It had been a mechanic's shop when I was a child, and it still still had its garage doors, which were slid open today. Their cars waiting to be worked on had been parked years ago. The pavement was replaced with soft ground cover and pavers. Two small trees were growing up on either side of the yard, and their branches were full of birdhouses and wind chimes. Inside the old shop, a very faint scent of car oil and tools lingered. And I remembered standing in the same spot years and years before, holding my mom's hand.

While she dropped off the keys to our car for an oil change, I hadn't minded tagging along for the errand, even as a little kid, knowing that the half hour while we waited would almost certainly involve a trip to the ice cream shop in the next block. As I stood reminiscing, looking at the bird baths and garden statues, I heard the wind chimes outside begin to ring. there must have been a dozen of them playing in the wind, and I gripped tighter the handle of my umbrella, knowing what it must mean. The April showers were coming.

Any minute now. I stepped back out onto the street and turned toward the cafe, thinking that if it were going to rain, I'd love the armchair by their big front window and a cup of something hot to enjoy while it did. I'd made it back up to the main street

when the first drops began to fall after months of snowflakes. The sound of the rain actually made me laugh. I'd forgotten. I let it fall on my face and my outstretched hand for a moment, then opened my beautiful umbrella and swung it up over my head. The outside of this umbrella was classic black fabric. Nothing that would make you guess what was hidden inside. I looked up into it, standing there on the corner and smiled.

A starry night looked back at me from inside the little bubble of space, a moon rising, a galaxy of stars, lighting up the purple and deep blue fabric sky. The sound of the rain falling on it was cozy, and like listening to it fall on the roof, When you're tucked up snug in bed, I steered through the street, wondering if the hopeful

bikers had indeed made it home by now. If not, I hoped they rode through a few good-sized puddles. I ducked under the awning at the cafe, collapsed my umbrella, and gave it a good shake before going in. and sliding it into the rack by the door. My favorite chair was open, and the place smelled of roasted beans and tea leaves. Welcome, April showers. I was glad they were here.

April showers. I'd brought along my umbrella today, and by the look of the skies this afternoon. It seemed like a wise choice. I had a little collection of umbrellas. In the stand by my front door, I had the standard collapsible kind, the sort that folded up into an astonishingly small package and could be easily carried in a pocket or bag.

I had a couple of the long standard kind. black fabric and a curved handle and a neat snap to keep it folded when not in use. And I had a pretty pink one that I'd been given as a child. It was a bit bent from being included in lots of play. I remember swinging it around by its handle, leaning on it. as I danced in my bedroom while imagining myself center stage in a Broadway show. Yes, an umbrella is an excellent prop, and one I still like to carry when I was out in the world, especially in the rainy days of spring.

I'd selected one of the long, standard ones today as I left the house. Its handle was unusual, not a curved loop, but a rounded end, something like a doorknob, but more slender. It was made of polished brass, a tiny globe, with tinier continents embossed into the metal. It fit perfectly in my cupped palm as I walked with it, and I couldn't help but hum under my breath. I've got the whole world in my hand. It felt like that today. As I walked along Main Street, the spring was real now, not fleeting, not disappearing for days at a time.

There were crocus. and daffodils, breaking through the soil, in the giant stone planter, in the square and downtown. Some shops had their doors propped open to take advantage of the fresh air, and though the gray skies had me certain that rain was coming, it hadn't come yet. It had been a long winter, and the feeling of spring air in my lungs. The sense and sights of the new season had me feeling cheery. I'm grateful just to be on the street today. I turned down an alley and stopped to window shop.

There were bouquets of roses and calla-lilies. already wrapped in pretty paper and tied with bows in the window of the flower shop. Along the bottom of the sill were a dozen small cacti in tiny pots, and I leaned in close to pure at one that had a minuscule pink flower on it. I wondered how often a cactus might flower and thought it most likely not an everyday happening. Yet here I was to witness it. I smiled at my luck. In the shop across the alley, a bicycle was being wheeled out the front door by a little kid and his dad. The kid was wearing a helmet, so new, there was still a tag dangling from it. He jumped with excitement to climb onto his new bike.

His dad put on his own helmet and climbed onto an older, well-used bike, parked in the rack. I heard dad say they could go through the park. on their way home and ride through the neighborhood of old houses behind the library, and probably still make it home before the rain came. I watched them ride off and thought I should get my old roller skates out of the basement when I got home. It had been a few years, but... I bet I could still T-stop and V-start and Flamingo with the best of them.

At the corner was a shop that sold bird baths and wind chimes and bird feeders. Giant sacks of bird seed were stacked beside the door, and I strolled over liking the way the point of the point of the door. of my umbrella, clacked against the Bluestone walkway. This little shop was set back away from the street a little. It had been a mechanics shop when I was a child, and it still had its garage doors, which were slid open today, where cars waiting to be worked on had been parked years ago. The pavement was replaced with soft ground cover and pavers. Two small trees were growing up on either side of the yard, and their branches were full of birdhouses and wind chimes. Inside the old shop,

a very faint scent of car oil. And tools lingered. And I remembered standing in the same spot. Years and years ago holding my mom's hand. While she dropped off the keys to our car for an oil change, I hadn't minded tagging along for the errand, even as a little kid, knowing that the half hour while we waited would almost certainly involve a trip to the ice cream shop in the next block. As I stood reminiscing looking at the bird baths and garden statues, I heard the wind chimes outside begin to ring.

There must have been a dozen of them playing in the wind. And I gripped tighter the handle of my umbrella, knowing what it must mean. The April showers were coming. Any minute now. I stepped back out onto the street and turned toward the cafe, thinking that, if it were going to rain, I'd love the armchair by their big front window

and a cup of something hot to enjoy. While it did, I'd made it back up to the main street when the first drops began to fall. After months of snowflakes, the sound of the rain, actually made me laugh. I'd forgotten it. I let it fall on my face, an outstretched hand for a moment. Then opened my beautiful umbrella and swung it up over my head. The outside of this umbrella was classic, black fabric. Nothing that would make you guess what was hidden inside. I looked up into it. it, standing there on the corner, and smiled.

A starry night looked back at me from inside the little bubble of space, a moon rising, a galaxy of stars. Lighting up the purple and deep blue fabric sky, the sound of the rain falling on it was cozy. And like listening to it. it fall on the roof when you're tucked up, snug in bed. I steered through the street, wondering if the hopeful bikers had indeed made it home by now. If not, I hope they rode through a few good-sized puddles. I ducked under the awning at the cafe, collapsed my umbrella, and gave it a good shake, before going in and sliding it into the rack by the door.

My favorite chair was open, and the place smelled of roasted beans and tea leaves. Welcome, April showers. I was glad they were here. Sweet dreams.