Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Lightning Glass

Episode Date: September 23, 2024

Our story tonight is called Lightning Glass, and it’s a story about a long beach walk spent looking for something magical after a storm has passed. It’s also about geese flying south for the winter, driftwood, and sandbars, bracing cold water lapping at the shore, and excitement of discovery. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Hope in a Suitcase; their mission is to provide children and teens in foster care with a suitcase/duffel bag, along with basic essentials and comfort items, to make their transition and circumstances just a little easier.  Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for the NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts or follow the link: nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription. Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners: Eversio Wellness: Chill Now Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle Alice Mushrooms: Nightcap NutraChamps: Tart Cherry Gummies A Brighter Year: Mini Coloring Book NuStrips: Sleep Strips Woolzies: Lavender Roll-On Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app. Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation at nothingmuchhappens.com/first-this. Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories you'll 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 Hope in a Suitcase. Their mission is to provide children and teens in foster care

with a suitcase or duffel bag, along with basic essentials and comfort items, to make their transition and circumstances just a little easier. Learn more about them in our show notes. If you need a little more, nothing much in your life, there are over 40 bonus stories waiting for you on our premium feed. There are shops in downtown nothing much that have only ever appeared in our bonuses. More marmalade and crumb, more innkeeper stories, more cool ant, all of it for a dime a day and completely ad-free. And when you subscribe, you can know that you are helping to keep nothing much happening.

See what I did there? Subscribe at nothingmuchappens.com or through the link in our show notes. Now, a gentle reminder that this is a form of brain training and that the effects will improve with time. All you need to do is listen. By occupying your attention for even a few minutes, you'll open the door to sleep, and sooner or later, you will fall right through it. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later called Lightning Glass, and it's a story about a long

beach walk spent looking for something magical after a storm has passed. It's also about geese flying south for the winter, driftwood and sandbars bracing cold water lapping at the shore, and the excitement of discovery. Now, it's time. Make yourself as comfortable as you can and let your whole body relax and melt into the bed I'll be here

keeping watch a guardian in the darkness even after you've fallen asleep keeping watch, a guardian in the darkness, even after you've fallen asleep. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice. Do it again. Inhale.

And sigh it out. Good. Lightning glass. It was my first thought when the thunder rang out, when lightning flashed through the afternoon sky and rain pelted the garden. I wondered if any of that lightning had possibly touched down at the beach. After a year of combing the sand

for pretty rocks and sea glass and mudlarking on the riverbanks for artifacts. I'd become an out-and-out rock hunter. I discovered a passion for finding. I loved the suspense of it. It was like a good detective story. Would I put the pieces together? Would I find a piece of Leland blue? A pudding stone? A halocyte? The beautiful quilted reef fossil known as a Petoskey stone. One by one, I had.

But the specimen I'd yet to encounter, the one I was so eager to find on a rock hunt, and the reason I I thought of the beach when the lightning had flashed, was something magical-seeming called lightning glass. Made in the instant that lightning struck sand, the result was a fragile,

often hollow piece of formed silica. I'd seen them in pictures, though not yet in person, and they reminded me of pieces of coral, or even frozen bits of lightning itself, branched like the veins autumn air in. I was excited to see that the clouds had been blown away. The sky was a calm, blue sea, and I was ready to step onto the sand and hunt for lightning glass. I dressed with a bit

of care. The day was sunny, but not overly warm. And even though the storm had passed, it could be blustery at the shore. Still, if I knew one thing about myself, it was that if I got close enough to the lake, I would have to put my feet in it. I would want to feel the cold water on my ankles and the damp sand under my soles. So I donned pants that rolled up easily to my knees and stepped into my trusty walking sandals. When I parked at the beach, I wasn't surprised to see a few other rock hunters already there, undoubtedly on the same mission. And we waved at each other

as I stepped onto the sand. I kicked off my sandals and carried them by their straps on one hand. The sand was still damp from the rain, and it felt wonderfully cool as I walked. I loved the beach in the summer, the kids making sandcastles, and people stretched out under umbrellas. I loved a beach walk when the sun beat down and a sudden diversion into the waves felt so refreshing. All of it filled my cup. But I also loved to be here when the crowds were gone, when there was a nip in the air, and even when ice formed and frozen waves against the shore. Today certainly wasn't cold enough for ice, but I did stop to zip my hoodie as I got closer to the water.

I was scanning the ground, looking for any signs that it had been struck by lightning. From the photos I'd seen, it wasn't likely that there would be any burn marks it wouldn't be like a tree that was struck or even the ground that might show cracking a scar instead there would just be the glass, the fulgurite, as it was properly called.

And that fulgurite would probably be under the sand, not sitting helpfully on top of it. So what I needed to look for was a small hole in the sand. The entry point where electricity had connected with the silica and the quartz. I took my time, remembering to enjoy the walk,

the fresh smell of the water and the cool air. I brought my handy garden trowel, when occasionally I'd stop to dig if I spotted something that looked promising. But so far had only unearthed a few pieces of basalt, diorite,

and septarian. There was a long piece of driftwood, nearly a whole tree, really, that had washed up and found a new home on the beach. It made for a useful bench, and I stopped for a while and sat and looked out at the water. There was a sandbar about 50 yards out where the lake bottom suddenly rose up to just three or four feet below the surface. And whenever I swam here in the summers, I would make my way out to it and spend some time walking across it

in the slow motion, low gravity way of an astronaut on the moon. The water was lighter there, a strip of turquoise amid the navy, and warmer from its shallowness. And on this cool day, as nearly every tree in the park behind me was at least part of the way into its color change. I wondered what it would be like to be out there. I stood up, leaving my trowel and sandals on the sand and walked closer to the water. I'd resisted stepping into it so far, my attention having been fixed on fulgurites,

but now I wanted to feel how cold it was. I stopped at the edge and rolled my pant legs up a bit higher, then eased a few toes in. We sometimes say that something took our breath away when it actually made us breathe deeper, and that was the effect the water had on me now. The cold was bracing in the best possible way, and my breath went deep into my lungs, steadying me as my awareness rushed into the places touched by the lake. I went just a little farther in till the water was at my calves, kept taking long inhales

and exhales. I felt so wonderfully present in my body. Cold water. The wind. The open sky. They were simplifying things for me, like a camera lens that zoomed out, then in again,

till things came into focus. Slowly I eased back onto the sand, which, in comparison, felt warm and inviting. I picked up my sandals and trowel and began heading back toward where I'd parked. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't found any lightning glass, but the trip had certainly been worth it all the same. My fellow rock hunters seemed to have similarly given up, and as my car came into sight, I noticed I had the beach to myself. I heard

geese honking in the distance and stopped to watch their V approaching. The cold weather was signaling them to begin their flight south for the winter, and I loved watching them soar together. That cold air must be as bracing as the lake had been for me. As I gaped up at them, one of my sandals slipped from my finger and landed on the sand beside me. When I stooped to pick it up, I saw a hole in the sand. It was larger than the pinprick holes you sometimes see, small air vents made as waves

pass over the surface. It was the size of a quarter or a little bigger. And aware of how fragile lightning glass could be, I just gently brushed sand away from it instead of digging. Till, to my delight, a hollow structure emerged. It was sandy and rough on the outside, and those branches, they were stunning. I felt like I was holding a piece of coral, the pocked surface and thin tubes that made the structure, a thing that looked like it had come from the sea, but was born in the sand, and made not from water, but fire.

It made me think of nature's repeating motifs, schemas that were shared by vastly different lifeforms. I carried the bit of petrified energy in my hand, ready to head home, thinking how grateful I was to be part of such a world. Lightning Glass It was my first thought when the thunder rang out, when lightning flashed through the afternoon sky and rain

pelted the garden. I wondered if any of that lightning had possibly touched down at the beach. After a year of combing the sand for pretty rocks and sea glass and mudlarking on the riverbanks for artifacts. I'd become an out-and-out rock hunter. I discovered a passion for finding. I loved the suspense of it it was like a good detective story would I put the pieces together would I find a piece of Leland blue

a pudding stone a halocyte, the beautiful quilted reef fossil known as a Petoskey stone. One by one I had but the specimen I'd yet to encounter the one I was so eager to find on a rock hunt and the reason I thought of the beach

when the lightning had flashed was something magical-seeming called lightning glass. Made in the instant that lightning struck sand. The result was a fragile, often hollow piece of formed silica. I'd seen them in pictures, though not yet in person. They reminded me of pieces of coral,

or even frozen bits of lightning itself, branched like the veins in a leaf. So today, as I opened my windows and let the fresh autumn air in, I was excited to see that the clouds had been blown away. The sky was a calm sea blue, and I was ready to step onto the sand and hunt for lightning glass. I dressed with a bit of care. warm. And even though the storm was over, it could be blustery at the shore. Still, one thing about myself. It was that if I got close enough to the lake, I would have to put my feet in. I would want to feel the cold water on my ankles and the damp sand under my soles. So I donned pants

that rolled up easily to my knees and stepped into my trusty walking sandals. When I parked at the beach, I wasn't surprised to see a few other rock hunters already there, undoubtedly on the same mission. And we waved at each other as I stepped onto the sand. I kicked off my sandals

and carried them by their straps in one hand. The sand was still damp from the rain, and it felt wonderfully cool as I walked. I loved the beach in the summer, the kids making sandcastles, and the sudden diversion into the waves felt so refreshing. All of it filled my cup, but I also loved to be here when the crowds were gone when there was a nip in the air and even when ice formed

and frozen waves against the shore. Today certainly wasn't cold enough for ice, but I did stop to zip my hoodie as I got closer to the water. I was scanning the ground, looking for any signs that it had been struck by lightning. From the photos I'd seen, wasn't likely that there would be any burn marks. It wouldn't be like a tree that was struck,

or even the ground that might show cracking, a scar. Instead, there would just be the glass, the fulgurite as it was properly called and that fulgurite would probably be under the sand not sitting helpfully on top of it so what I needed to look for was a small hole in the sand, the entry point where electricity had connected with the silica and quartz. I took my time, remembering to enjoy the walk,

the fresh smell of the water, and the cool air. I'd brought my handy, diorite, and septarian. There was a long piece of driftwood, nearly a whole tree that had washed up and found a new home on the beach. It made for a useful bench, and I stopped for a while and sat and looked out at the water. There was a sandbar about fifty yards out where the lake bottom suddenly rose up to just three or four feet below the

surface. And whenever I swam here in the summers, I would make my way out to it and spend some time walking across it in the slow motion low gravity way of an astronaut on the moon the water was lighter there, a strip of turquoise amid the navy, and warmer from its shallowness. And on this cool day, as nearly every tree in the park behind me was at least part of the way into its color change,

I wondered what it would be like out there. I stood up, leaving my trowel and sandals on the sand and walked closer to the water. I'd resisted stepping into it so far, my attention having been fixed on vulgarites. But now I wanted to feel how cold it was. I stopped at the edge

and rolled my pant legs up a bit higher, then eased a few toes in. We sometimes say that something took our breath away, when it actually made us breathe deeper. And that was the effect the water had on me now. The cold was bracing in the best possible way. And my breath went deep into my lungs, steadying me as my awareness rushed into the places touched by the lake. I went just a little further in till the water was at my calves

and kept taking long inhales and exhales. I felt so wonderfully present in my body the cold water the wind the open sky they were simplifying things for me like a camera lens that zoomed out, then in again, till things came into focus. Slowly, I eased back onto the sand, which in comparison felt warm and inviting.

I picked up my sandals and trowel and began heading back where I'd parked. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't found any lightning glass, but the trip had certainly been worth it. My fellow rock hunters seemed to have similarly given up, and as my car came into sight, I noticed I had the beach to myself. I heard geese honking in the distance and stopped to watch their V approaching.

The cold weather was signaling them to begin their flight south for the winter. And I loved watching them soar together. That cold air must be as bracing as the lake had been for me. As I gaped up at them, one of my sandals slipped from my finger and landed on the sand beside me. When I stooped to pick it up,

I saw a hole in the sand. It was larger than the pinprick holes you sometimes see. Small air vents made as waves pass over the surface. It was the size of a quarter or a little bigger, and aware of how fragile lightning glass could be, I just gently brushed sand away from it instead of digging

till, to my delight, a hollow structure emerged. It was sandy and rough on the outside and those branches they were stunning. I felt like I was holding a piece of coral, the pocked surface and the thin tubes that made the it, a thing that looked like it had come from the sea, but was born in the sand, and made not from water, but fire. It made me think of nature's repeating motifs,

the schemas that were shared by vastly different life forms. I carried the bit of petrified energy in my hand, ready to head home, thinking how grateful I was to be part of such a world. Sweet dreams.