Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - New Path

Episode Date: August 25, 2025

Our story tonight is called New Path, and it’s a story about a late summer stroll through high grasses and shaded glens. It’s also about coneflowers and crushed stone, lifting the hair from the back of your neck to feel the breeze, an eagle’s nest lined with moss, a cool creek to wash your hands in and feeling welcomed and at home in the wild. Listeners can get 15% off at moonbird.life/nothingmuchhappens. Subscribe to our Premium channel. The first month is on us. 💙 We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Seal Rescue Ireland, a charity dedicated to the rescue, rehabilitation and release of sick, injured, or orphaned seals. NMH merch, autographed books and more! Pay it forward subscription  Listen to our daytime show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much.  First This, Kathryn’s guided mediation podcast.  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. If you're hearing this, it means you've already made sleep a priority. And that's something worth applauding. You've carved out this quiet moment to wind down. And I have something that fits beautifully into that routine. It's called Moonbird. It's a small screen-free device that gently expands and contracts in your hand, guiding your breath with a calming rhythm. You don't have to count or focus, just hold it

and breathe. I get mine first, and I'm using it right now. I use it whenever I record this podcast. It helps me stay calm and centered as I read to you. And after seeing how much it helped me, my wife wanted one for herself, and now she loves it, too. There's no screen to distract you, but if you like data, there's an optional app that tracks your heart rate and HRV. A recent study found that people fell asleep 28% faster and had 37% better sleep quality using Moonbird daily. If you're ready to take your bedtime ritual even further, you can get 15% off at moonbird. At moonbird.life slash nothing much happens.

We'll have that in our show notes. Moonbird. Life slash nothing much happens. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikola. I write and read 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 undies for everyone. Undies for everyone provides new underwear for children living in poverty or crisis. You can learn more about them in our show notes. A special thank you to our premium subscribers. You are making this show possible. I can keep creating.

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The first month is on us. now this process of listening to a bedtime story to wind down and fall asleep it works by giving your brain a small job to do your brain needs a bit of gentle engagement to move out of default mode and into task positive mode where sleep is possible all you need to do is listen with time and regular use the conditioned effect will become more and more reliable I'll read the story twice

and I'll go a little slower the second time through if you wake later in the night don't hesitate to turn an episode back on Our story tonight is called New Path And it's a story about a late summer stroll Through high grasses and shaded glens It's also about cone flowers and crushed stone

lifting the hair from the back of your neck to feel the breeze An eagle's nest lined with moss a cool creak to wash your hands in, and feeling welcomed and at home in the wild. So lights out, devices down, find your favorite sleeping position and snuggle into it. The day is over now. Whatever happened is what happened.

And now we are here with nothing to do but rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh it out. Nice. Again, breathe in. And let it go. Good New Path I wasn't sure I had the energy today We were at the tail end of summer

And the heat was wearing me down The wide open sky As beautiful and blue as she was felt over-exposed and bleached out and I almost ended my walk as soon as I'd started it but then I saw a post at the corner the one across from the coffee cart

on the south side of town a post with a small sign beside a gravel path and my curiosity got the better of me what does that sign say where does that path go a million adventures

have started this way so I turned my weary feet toward it and shaded my eyes with my hand to read. It was just a marker with an arrow pointing down the trail. Garden Path One had said. Well, that begged the question. What would I find at Garden Path 2? And off I went. down a small hill, and curving to the left, I followed along at a slow, ambling pace. I kept to one edge of the path, where there was a bit of shade from a line of long, slim-trunked red-bud trees.

their heart-shaped leaves were still deep green and I wanted to come back in a month to see them then on a breezy, crisp day when the cicadas had quieted down and the air smelled of dry grass. All around me were wild, growing switchgrass and purple cone flowers. The milkweed had begun to dry and crack open. And the thin flowers of the Coriopsis waved in the wind that was barely there.

Every so often I came upon. on another post, marking garden paths two, three, and four. I like that they called what grew wild, and native to the soil, a garden. And that while the signs didn't give much in the way of information, They did reassure me, but I was going the right way. I was still on the path. The path curved now to the right and climbed slowly up toward a line of thick woods.

I always like this moment, that it's one you get every day. Out on a walk somewhere you haven't been before. When you can't, from where you stand, quite make out where the path is taking you. What lies ahead? Was I headed into the woods,

or would it skirt the tree line? and take me into a neighborhood or even a dead end where I'd have nothing to do but turn about and retrace my steps. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck as I made my way up the rise. My hair had come loose, and I caught it up, twisting it into a knot and clipping it in place on top of my head. The sudden coolness on my shoulders felt good, a boost to make it the last few paces to the top. Another post and sign. Another arrow. Forest one. Ah, so I was headed in, under a canopy of a million

leaves, where the sound of chirping bugs suddenly disappeared. And I only heard my footsteps, now on woodchips, rather than crushed stone. The smell of cedar and pine rushed at me. And I thought of all the sap and needles, cones and seed pods, quietly working through this shady network. Dispersing and protecting genes and chromosomes, drinking from the soil and waving in the wind. Had I truly nearly missed taking this walk?

My steps weren't draining my cup. They were filling it. I looked for bird nests in the branches. They were hard to spot, camouflaged by leaves. And it reminded me of an eagle's nest I'd seen on the beach a few weeks before. There was a stand of birch trees up on the cliff, pale and papery, above a lonely stretch of sand.

And in one was a nest as big around as my kitchen table. I gaped at it, then, even more a gog, spotted the eagle. Talons wrapped powerfully around a long branch, surveying the shoreline. I dread that Aries like this could weigh up to a ton, that they were built with branches as big around as a forearm, and were lined with moss and cornstalks. If I were an eagle,

that would be the coziest place I could imagine. After a few minutes, the eagle had tipped from the branch, spreading his wings to catch the updraft and soaring away. I wondered if that felt like riding down a hill on your bicycle. The rush of air around you on a clear head. In the dark of the woods, the white sign on the post stood out. And I could see a patch of waving high grass. through the tree trunks as I came closer.

The patch was a wide, open field. And suddenly I wanted to be right in the middle of it. I raced down the path into the meadow and opened my arms, spinning in circles. and drinking in the joy I felt just being there. How had nearly the whole summer gone by without me finding myself out in a field,

ringed by trees, breathing in the sweet, Sun-dried, weedy smell. The sun was tilting toward the horizon and a shaft of light cut through the crown of trees to light up a single corner of the field. The path came close to it, but never quite crossed into it.

and I loved the perspective it gave me as I walked in the shade the tall fox-tail barley was ripe the green of the stems had been replaced with a golden shade shot through with a bit of silver and the light struck it like in an art house movie. Garden, forest, field.

What else could a person need? When I heard the trickle, I smiled. Of course, a bit of water, please. that would be the wax seal on this perfect walk a thin creek just wide enough to be crossed in two strides wound through the meadow the sound was like rain on cobblestones

but so quiet I could barely hear it over the rippling grasses. I followed the water, watching where it washed over rocks and roots, and where the last post was driven into the ground, pointing me back to Garden Path One, back to where I started. I squatted down beside it.

I slipped my ring from my finger and into my pocket and plunged both hands into the water. I'd read somewhere that you can cool your yourself quickly by running cold water over your wrists since the veins there are close to the surface and they can carry the coolness into your body I didn't know if there was any truth to it, but it felt absolutely heavenly. I washed my hands in the running water, gliding them over one another, washing water up my forearms and pressing my cool palms against the back of my neck.

A few drops ran down my back, and I shivered and chuckled to myself. We marvel sometimes at how perfectly the world suits us, how the design on the moth's wings matches exactly some flower in its rainforests. How webs of life fit like puzzle pieces in their environments and among each other. How an hour with trees and grass and water can reset the human heart. But of course it does. We've all grown up together here. We are family.

New Path I wasn't sure I had the energy today. We were at the tail end of summer and the heat was wearing me down. The wide open sky, as beautiful and blue as she was, felt overexposed and bleached out. And I almost ended my walk.

As soon as I'd started it, But then I saw a post at the corner, the one across from the coffee cart on the south side of town. A post with a small sign beside a gravel path and my curiosity got the best. better of me. What does that sign say?

Where does that path go? A million adventures have started this way. So I turned my weary feet toward it and shaded my eyes. my eyes with my hand to read. It was just a marker with an arrow pointing down the trail. Garden Path One, it said. Well, that begged the question.

What would I find at Garden Path 2? And off I went. Down a small hill and curving to the left. I followed along at a slow, ambling pace. I kept to one edge of the path where there was a bit of shade from a line of young, slim-trunked, red-bud trees. Their heart-shaped leaves were still deep green, and I wanted to come back in a month to see them then on a breezy cool day

when the cicadas had quieted down and the air smelled of dry grass All around me were wild-growing switchgrass and purple cone flowers. The milkweed had begun to dry and crack open, and the thin flowers of the coriopsis waved in the wind. that was barely there. Every so often, I came upon another post, marking garden paths two,

three, and four. I liked that they called what grew wild, a native to the soil a garden and that while the signs didn't give much in the way of

information they did reassure me that I was going the right way I was still on the path It curved now to the right and climbed slowly up toward a line of thick woods I always like this moment

Not that it's one you get every day Out on a walk somewhere you haven't been before. When you can't, from where you stand, quite make out where the path is taking you. What lies ahead? was I headed into the woods or would it skirt the tree line and take me into a neighborhood or even a dead end

where I'd have nothing to do but turn about and retrace my steps. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck as I made my way up the rise. My hair had come loose and I caught it up. Twisting it into a knot and clipping it in place on top of my head.

The sudden coolness on my shoulders felt good, a boost to make it the last few paces to the top of the top. Another post and sign. Another arrow. Forest one. Ah, so I was headed in. Under a canopy of a million leaves. Where the sound of chirping bugs suddenly disappeared.

And I only heard my footsteps, now on wood chips, rather than crushed stone. The smell of cedar and pine rushed at me. And I thought of all the sap and needles. Cones and seed pods, quietly working through this shady network.

Dispersing and protecting genes and chromosomes. drinking from the soil and waving in the wind. Had I truly nearly missed taking this walk? My steps weren't draining my cup. They were filling it. I looked for birds' nests in the branches. They were hard to spot, camouflaged by leaves.

And it reminded me of an eagle's nest. I'd seen on the beach a few weeks before. there was a stand of birch trees up on a cliff pale and papery above a lonely stretch of sand and in one was a nest as big around as my kitchen table I'd gaped at it then even more agog

spotted the eagle talons wrapped powerfully around a long branch, surveying the shoreline. I'd read that Aries like this one could weigh up to a ton that they were built with branches,

as big around as a forearm, and were lined with moss and cornstalks. If I were an eagle, that would be the coziest place I could imagine. After a few minutes, the eagle, had tipped from the branch spreading his wings to catch the updraft

and soaring away I wondered if that felt like riding downhill on your bicycle the rush of air around you and a clear head in the dark of the woods the white sign on the post stood out and I could see a patch of waving high grass through the tree trunks as I came closer.

The patch was a wide, open field. And suddenly, I wanted to be right in the middle of it. I raced down the path into the meadow and opened my arms, spinning in circles, and drinking in the joy I felt, just being there. How had nearly the whole summer gone by Without me finding myself Out in a field Ringed by trees Breathing in

the sweet Sun-dried Weedy smell The sun was tilting toward the horizon And a shaft of light Cut through the crown of trees To light up a single corner of the field The path came close to it

but never quite crossed into it. And I loved the perspective it gave me as I walked in the shade. The tall fox tail barley was ripe. The green of the stems had been replaced. with a golden shade, shot through with a bit of silver, and the light struck it, like in an art house movie.

Garden, forest, field. What else could a person need? When I heard the trickle, I smiled. Of course, a bit of water, please. That would be the wax seal on this perfect walk. A thin creek, just wide enough. to be crossed, in two strides, wound through the meadow. The sound was like rain on cobblestones,

but so quiet, I could barely hear it over the rippling grasses. I followed the water, watching where it washed over rocks and roots. When where the last post was driven into the ground, pointing me back the garden path one, back to where I started. I squatted down beside it. I slipped my ring from my finger and into my pocket

and plunged both hands into the water. I'd read somewhere that you can cool yourself quickly by running cold water over your wrists since the veins there are close to the surface and they carry the coolness into your body. your body. I didn't know if there was any truth to it, but it felt absolutely heavenly. I washed my hands in the running water, gliding them over one another.

washing the water up my forearms and pressing my cool palms against the back of my neck. A few drops ran down my back, and I shivered and chuckled to myself. We marvel sometimes at how perfectly the world suits us. How the design on the moth swings matches exactly some flower in its rainforest. How webs of life. fit like puzzle pieces in their environments and among each other. How an hour with trees and grass and water can reset the human heart. But of course it does.

we've all grown up together here we are family sweet dreams