Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Stargazing in the Woods

Episode Date: September 28, 2026

Our story tonight is called Stargazing in the Woods, and it’s a story about a few days away from everything and at the same time closer to everything. It’s also about flat stones for skipping, an old blanket spread under the night sky, and a realigned perspective to take home after the embers die. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving the Detroit Creativity Project, bringing free improv programs to schools and community centers to build confidence, collaboration, and the social skills that students use daily in other classes, at work, and in life. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠⁠Premium channel⁠⁠⁠. The first month is on us. 💙 ⁠⁠⁠Join⁠⁠⁠ the Village of Nothing Much App! Order Kathryn’s new book ⁠⁠⁠On the Street Where You Live⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠ Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! Sign up for our Newsletter ⁠⁠⁠here⁠⁠⁠ to be in the know! 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. 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 Witterstein. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the Detroit Creativity Project, bringing free improv programs to school and community centers to build confidence, collaboration, and the social skills that students use daily. Learn more about them in our first.

show notes. For ad-free, bonus content, or to join the virtual village through our app, go to Nothing Much Happens.com. And this is just a note from me. We sometimes get messages from folks saying they wish they could set the show to play all night or to turn off at a certain point. and I want to tell you that your podcast player almost certainly allows you to do that. So give it a Google, my friend. I want you to have the best possible experience you can with our shows. And sometimes all that requires is typing a question in the search bar and learning what all the buttons do.

I'm not even trying to be sassy, I swear. It's just that you deserve great sleep, and I believe you can have it. Now, as always, let me remind you that all you need to do now is listen. I'll tell our story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to push play, and you'll drop right back off. Our story tonight is called stargazing in the woods, and it's a story about a few days away from everything, and at the same time, closer to everything. It's also about flat stones for skipping, an old blanket spread under the night sky,

and a realigned perspective to take home after the embers die. So, lights out campers, snuggle down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Let your body drop heavy. into your mattress. And let me affirm for you that you have done enough for the day. Truly, it is enough.

Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in. And out. Good. Stargazing. In the woods. There is a kind of quills.

quiet out in the woods. That is different from the quiet of a city or neighborhood street. Because the woods aren't actually quiet. There are layers of sound coming down from the branches. As birds call and leaves rustle together, there are layers of sound coming up from the forest floor. As chipmunks race, and deer take sure-footed steps, and insects click and buzz. No, the quiet that happens in the woods isn't in the woods.

It's in us when we are there. That's what we came for. The quiet that settles deep in the bones, after a few days away from. everything else, even the things we loved. Sometimes we need space from them too. We made a campsite in a clearing under tall pines whose needles made a thick carpet for our tent. Around the grove of trees, there were pockets of open space, fields where we could walk or watch animals as they moved through their daily routines. Beyond them, far in the distance,

we could see a rising peak of something that was more than a hill but not quite a mountain. We dug out a place for a fire and rolled out our sleeping bags, organized our food, and settled camp chairs in the best spot for watching sunsets.

Afterward, we wandered for a bit and found a fast-moving stream where I trailed my fingers through the water, then explored a path down to the lake, along the way, gathering a few smooth flat stones that we would skip with varying levels of success across its surface. At night, we watched fireflies. They were like moving constellations, and I found shapes in them the same way. I'd found shapes in the clouds during the day. All the while,

the quiet was settling deeper into my system. I was finding my focus again, sometimes in the busy blur of work and home and my to-do list. My mind struggles to stay on the path. I carve out for it. I can't sustain my attention. And it's led me to forget things. and leave projects half finished.

Out here, however, I noticed that I could just listen to the morning song of the birds or watch the minnows swimming circles around my ankles in the lake, and my senses stayed where I put them. It hadn't happened all at once, but it had happened. Tomorrow we would pack up and go back. I would be ready to go back then. But for tonight, I wanted to go a bit farther into the quiet and spend some time all by myself.

We both did. As good as togetherness is, being separate has its own appeal. So I pulled on my hiking boots and stepped out onto a trail to find a place to look at the stars. It was a cloudless night, and I found my way easily

as I cleared the line of trees at the edge of our campsite. There was a spot I'd been to a few times during the week. It was a bit higher up on a slope with a flat rock, just big enough for me to stretch out on. I'd gone before to look down at the lake

and across to the tops of trees on its far side, though tonight I meant only to look up. I took a few minutes to get there, and as I walked, I felt the path under my feet. It seemed I'd gotten more sensitive to finding the right way to step, the places where I could solidly land my boots. It's something I forget sometimes, that we get better at what we do habitually.

Whether it's a hike in the woods, learning a new language, or even just being patient when something goes awry. It was something my mother used to recite. Say a kind word today, and it will come even easier tomorrow. I'd brought an old plaid blanket.

And when I reached my spot, I flung it out and let it ripple over the flat rock, then stretched out, tucked my hands behind my head, and crossed one ankle over the other, in a posture of sincere stargazing. Stars were so bright.

I took my breath away. I almost couldn't bear to blink. I was used to a, night sky that shared its space with so many streetlights and billboards and buildings, that the stars were just a dim part of the background. But out here, they were the entire sky. They were astonishingly brilliant, and though they were so far away, They felt nearly touchable. I thought of where I was on this rock,

in this stretch of forest. And I let my perspective expand. I zoomed out, taking in more space. I thought of the cities around me. Then the borders of countries, the immense spread of oceans, I thought of myself, like a tiny spark of light, along with all the billions of other sparks,

lighting up our small blue dot. I kept zooming out, thinking about planets I'd learned to name in elementary school, suspended in space around me, the rings of Saturn, Neptune's dark spot, Jupiter, with his 53 moons, I stretched my thoughts still further to space beyond what we could see with telescopes or predict with equations, figuring that out past all of it, there wasn't likely to be a big brick wall. but instead more and more endless expanse. Then I slowly started to zoom back in.

I pulled my thoughts back through space, back from the planets and sun, back to our spot in the universe. I zoomed in tighter to see the shape of the continents. the formations and lakes and mountain chains around me. I zoomed right down to my rock and back into my body. I felt my breath moving through my nostrils. And the relaxed, slow beat of my heart,

I felt the weight of my limbs and the touch of my clothes. Somewhere along the way, my perspective had realigned. I'd come for quiet, and I'd found it. But beyond that, I was resettled in my body and my heart, remembering who I was, and what mattered to me, I was ready to go back, stargazing in the world. woods. There is a kind of quiet out in the woods that is different from the quiet of a city or neighborhood because the woods aren't actually quiet. There are layers of sound coming down from the branches

as birds call and leaves rustle together. There are layers of sound coming up from the forest floor. As chipmunks race and deer take sure-footed steps and insects, click and buzz. No, the quiet that happens in the woods isn't in the woods. It is in us when we are there. That's what we came for, the quiet, that settles deep in the bones. After a few days, away from everything else, even the things. even the things we loved.

Sometimes we need space from them too. We made a campsite in a clearing under tall pines whose needles made a thick carpet for our tent. Around the grove of trees, there were pockets of open space fields where we could walk or watch animals as they moved through their daily routines beyond them far in the distance we could see a rising peak of something that was more than a hill but not quite a mountain we dug out a place for a fire and rolled out our sleeping bags,

organized our food, and settled camp chairs in the best spot for watching sunsets. Afterward, we wandered for a bit and found a fast, moving stream, where I trailed my fingers through the water, then explored a well-worn path down to the lake, along the way, gathering a few smooth, flat stones that we would skip with varying levels of success across its surface. At night, we watched fireflies. They were like moving constellations, and I found shapes in them, the same way I found shapes in the clouds during the day. all the while the quiet was settling deeper into my system. I was finding my focus again, sometimes in the busy blur of work and home and my to-do list.

My mind struggles to stay on the path I carve out for it. I can't sustain my attention, and it's led me to forget things and leave projects half-finished. Out here, however, I noticed that I could just listen to the morning song of the birds, or watch the minnows swimming circles around my ankles in lake. And my senses stayed where I put them. It hadn't happened all at once. But it had happened. Tomorrow we would pack up and go home.

I would be ready to go back then, but for tonight, I wanted to go a bit further into the quiet and spend some time all by myself. We both did. As good as togetherness is, being separate has its own appeal. So I pulled on my hiking boots and stepped out onto a trail to find a place to look at the stars. It was a cloudless night and I found my way easily. As I cleared the line of trees at the edge of our campsite, there was a spot. I'd bend to a few times during the week. It was a bit higher up on a slope with a flat rock, just big enough for me to stretch out on.

I'd gone before to look down at the lake and across to the tops of trees on its front. far side, though tonight I meant only to look up. It took a few minutes to get there, and as I walked, I felt the path under my feet. It seemed I'd gotten more sensitive to finding the right way to step, the places where I could solidly land my boots. It's something I forget sometimes that we get better at whatever we do

habitually, whether it's a hike in the woods, learning a new language, or even just being patient when something goes awry. It was something my mother used to recite, say a kind word today, and it will come even easier tomorrow. I'd brought an old plaid blanket, and when I reached my spot, I flung it out and let it ripple over the flat rock, then stretched out, tucked my hands behind my head, and crossed one

ankle over the other. In a posture of sincere stargazing, the stars were so bright. It took my breath away. I almost couldn't bear to blink. I was used to a night sky that shared its space with so many streetlights and bill boards and buildings, that the stars were just a dim part of the background. But out here, they were the entire sky. They were astonishingly brilliant. And though they were so far away, they felt nearly touchable. I thought of where I was on this rock.

In this stretch of forest, and I let my perspective expand. I zoomed out, taking in more space. I thought of the cities around me, then the borders of countries, the immense spread of oceans. I thought of myself like a tiny spark of light. along with all the billions of other sparks, lighting up our small blue dot. I kept zooming out, thinking about planets I'd learn to name. In elementary school, suspended in space around me,

the rings of Saturn, Neptune's dark spot, Jupiter, With his 53 moons, I stretched my thoughts further to space beyond what we could see with telescopes, or predict with equations, figuring that out past all of it, there wasn't likely to be a big brick wall. but instead more and more endless expanse. I slowly started to zoom back in. I pulled my thoughts back through space from the planets and sun,

back to our spot in the universe. I zoomed in tighter. to see the shape of the continent, the formations, and lakes, and mountain chains around me. I zoomed right down to my rock and back into my body. I felt my breath, moving through my nostrils, slow beat, the weight of my limbs, and the touch of my clothes. somewhere along the way my perspective had realigned might come for quiet

and I'd found it but beyond that I was resettled in my body and my heart remembering who I was and what mattered to me I was ready to go back

sweet dreams Thank you.