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

Episode Date: February 26, 2024

Our story tonight is called The Bridge in the Woods, and it’s a story about a break in the cold weather and the boost that comes from warm sunlight on your face. It’s also about woodpeckers and spring melt flowing fast, the wonders of libraries, and the kindness of people who you might never meet but have cleared a path for you. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Mountain Humane and Paws for Hunger Pet Pantry. Saving Animals and Changing Lives.  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 visit our website. Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app.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 Catherine Nicolai. 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 Mountain Humane and Paws for Hunger Pet Pantry, saving animals and changing lives.

Learn more at the link in our show notes. If you find these stories useful to you at bedtime, I want to encourage you to try our daytime version of the show as well. It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, and it's told in a non-sleepy way with beautiful sound design. It's a great show to listen to just to enjoy the stories, and also a useful tool for coping with anxiety and reducing stress. Find it on any podcast app. It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much. And if you're looking for more, more nothing much, we have that. Our premium subscription has over 30 exclusive bonus episodes, with a new one added each month. And it's all ad-free. We have a link in our notes

to subscribe, or you can just search NMH Premium on your Apple Podcast app. Now, storytelling to induce sleep is hardly new. It's a tried and true method, and it works just by giving your brain a simple job to do. Just by listening to the sound of my voice and following along with the simple shape of the tail, we will shift your brain into its task positive mode where sleep is much more accessible. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night you can play the story again or just think through any part of it that you can remember. Our story tonight is called The Bridge in the Woods, and it's a story about a break in the cold weather

and the boost that comes from warm sunlight on your face. It's also about woodpeckers and spring melt flowing fast, the wonders of libraries, and the kindness of people who you might never meet, but have cleared a path for you. now it's time snuggle down campers lights out maybe you've been looking forward to this moment all day

and now it's here let that feeling of finally being safe in your own bed wash over you. Let your jaw relax. Let your shoulders soften. Take a deep breath in. And sigh it out. One more time.

Inhale. And let it go. Good. The bridge in the woods. There is a path behind the library, edged with fallen logs that winds deep into the woods. In some places it's laid with wood chips, and in others the bare ground and tree roots show through. It splits and branches, and though I think I have walked every one of the trails that emerge from it, I don't pretend to know all the secrets of those acres.

We were in a warm spell of early spring that could easily tip right back into winter at any time. The wind had been blowing and brisk for a few days, and the mud left after the last snow had melted, was drying up. Then, today, the sun had come out, and the wind had died down. I hadn't realized, until I felt the bright light on my face, how badly I needed it. It felt like we had had more than our fair share of gray, dull days lately. And I'd been focused on keeping my head down and trudging through. The sunshine had instantly boosted my mood. I'd stood at the kitchen sink, my teacup steaming beside me, and smiled so easily at the bright day. My heart was lighter,

and my body eager to get outside and move a bit. So I tied on my boots and come to this path behind the library. There was a little sign at the trailhead saying that it was cared for by the friends of the library and that all were welcome to enjoy the paths. I smiled thinking that I had a lot of good friends in my life. But is there a better friend than the library? Books, periodicals, movies, and a trail to hike on?

I'd found out recently they even had appliances and tools you could check out. Sewing machines and telescopes and guitars and jigsaws, all for free with your library card. One of the librarians had even helped me archive my family photos. And once, when I'd been overwhelmed and anxious, made phone calls for me to renew a prescription and make a doctor's appointment. I decided I should become an official friend of the library, join this group, and help to care for the trails. Setting out, the ground was springy,

and the air smelled half of frozen leaves and bare branches and half of moving water and moss. And because of those bare branches, the sunlight made it all the way down to me, even as I got deeper into the trees. I took a right at a fork in the path and followed it around a grove of birches. There were snowdrops growing around their trunks, and I stopped to wonder if they had just come out today, if mine were the first eyes to behold them. At the next fork, I turned to the left, wanting to stay in the deepest part of the woods

for as long as possible. There was a fallen, hallowed-out tree that was big enough for me to sit in, though I stayed to the path. The sound of a woodpecker at work echoed around me, and high in the branches I could see birds and squirrels

busy with their chores. I wondered if they felt like I did when the sun hit them this morning inspired to take a break from hibernation and move their little bodies. It sounded by the birdsong and the chittering that they had. At the next fork, I stood still a moment and closed my eyes. Which way? I asked myself. All of the paths so far had been familiar. Those birch trees, that fallen trunk,

I'd seen them before. I wondered if there was something still to discover out here. I resisted the urge to just move, to turn and go on, and kept the weight balanced across my feet. I breathed slowly from the bottom of my lungs and felt the touch of my clothes against my skin. That's when I realized I could hear water moving. With my eyes closed, I turned my head slowly from side to side Till I could locate the faint murmur

Then I blinked my eyes open And headed down the trail in front of me. It curved around a low hill, and I had to pick my way across a muddy patch. The sound of the water was growing louder, and soon I could spot a creek trickling away beside me. Tiny rivulets, born of a spring, somewhere unseen, were feeding it. And as I walked on, the water grew wider and deeper. In the thick of the trees,

I couldn't see how or if I would cross it. Then, suddenly, ahead of me appeared a bridge spanning the water. It wasn't a large bridge. A dozen steps would take me across it, but it looked like it had been made originally of stones, and reinforced sometime recently with lumber that was fading from gold to gray in the open air. I was struck by how far out into the woods I was, how much work it must have taken to bring these materials out here and the tools to affix them. And it was just done so fellow hikers on the trail

could cross from one bank to another. Strangers who'd never know who those bridge builders were would be able to keep walking, and that had been enough of a reason to spend the time, the effort, the sweat of difficult work. In the gloomy days of winter, I could lose track of this truth, that there are many, many kind humans

looking out for others simply because they feel they should. I stepped up onto the planks and came to the middle of the bridge, leaning my elbows on the railing and looking down at the water slipping past. Spring melt was flowing under my feet, and I wondered where the snowflakes had fallen that were now this water. Miles from here?

And where had that water been before? In clouds over another continent? Rushing through a waterfall? Caught in a backyard birdbath? Was there any part of the earth it hadn't touched? I stayed for a while, thinking my curious thoughts and feeling the sun warm my face. Eventually, I stepped off the other end of the bridge

and kept walking. I knew these paths all looped back around to the trailhead and that sooner or later, I'd be back where I started. But I'd be leaving with a full cup lungs full of fresh air body warmed with exercise mind calmed from time spent with trees and moving water

and heart lifted by the kindness of friends I hadn't yet met. The Bridge in the Woods There is a path behind the library, edged with fallen logs that winds deep into the woods. In some places, it's laid with wood chips, and in others, the bare ground and tree roots show through. It splits and branches,

and though I think I have walked every one of the trails that emerge from it, I don't pretend to know all the secrets of those acres. We were in a warm spell of early spring that could easily tip right back into winter at any time. The wind had been blowing and brisk for a few days, and the mud, left after the last snow had melted, was drying up. Then, today, the sun had come out,

and the wind had died down. I hadn't realized until I felt the bright light on my face how badly I needed it. It felt like we had had more than our fair share of gray, dull days lately, and I'd been focused on keeping my head down and trudging through. The sunshine had instantly boosted my mood. I'd stood at the kitchen sink, my teacup steaming beside me, and smiled so easily at the bright day. My heart was lighter and my body eager to get outside and move a bit. So I tied on my boots

and come to this path behind the library. There was a little sign at the trailhead saying that it was cared for by the friends of the library and that all were welcome to enjoy the paths. I smiled, thinking that I had a lot of good friends in my life. But is there a better friend than the library? Books, periodicals, movies, and a trail to hike on? I'd found out recently they even had appliances and tools you could check out.

Sewing machines and telescopes and, and jigsaws, all for free with your library card. One of the librarians had even helped me archive my family photos, and once, when I'd been overwhelmed and anxious, made phone calls for me to renew a prescription and make a doctor's appointment. I decided I should become an official friend of the join this group and help to care for the trails. Setting out, the ground was springy, and the air smelled half of frozen leaves and bare branches and half of moving water and moss.

And because of those bare branches, the sunlight made it all the way down to me, even as I got deeper into the trees. I took a right at a fork in the path and followed it around a grove of birches. There were snowdrops growing around their trunks, and I stopped to wonder if they had just come out today, if mine were the first eyes to behold them. At the next fork, I turned to the left, wanting to stay in the deepest part of the woods for for as long as possible. There was a fallen, hollowed-out tree that was big enough for me to sit in,

though I stayed to the path. The sound of a woodpecker at work echoed around me, and high in the branches, I could see birds and squirrels busy with their chores. I wondered if they felt like I did when the Sun hit them this morning, inspired to take a break from hibernation and move their little bodies. It sounded by the bird song and chittering that they had.

At the next fork, I stood still a moment and closed my eyes. Which way? I asked myself. All of the paths so far had been familiar. Those birch trees, that fallen trunk. I'd seen them before. I wondered if there was something still to discover out here. I resisted the urge to just move, to turn and go on, and kept the weight balanced across my feet. I breathed slowly from the bottoms of my lungs and felt the touch of my clothes against my skin. That's when I realized I could hear water moving.

With my eyes still closed, I turned my head slowly from side to side till I could locate the faint murmur. Then I blinked my eyes open and headed down the trail in front of me. It curved around a low hill, and I had to pick my way across a muddy patch. The sound of the water was growing louder, and soon I could spot a creek trickling away beside me. Tiny rivulets, born of a spring somewhere unseen, were feeding it. And as I walked on, the water grew wider and deeper. In the thick of the trees, I couldn't see how or if I would cross it. Then suddenly, ahead of me, appeared a bridge spanning the water.

It wasn't a large bridge. A dozen steps would take me across it. But it looked like it had been made originally of stones and reinforced sometime recently with lumber that was fading from gold to gray in the open air. I was struck with how far out into the woods I was, how much work it must have taken to bring these materials out here, the tools to affix them.

And it was done just so that fellow hikers on the trail could cross from one bank to another. Strangers, who'd never know who these bridge builders were, would be able to keep walking. And that was enough of a reason to spend the time, the effort, the sweat of difficult work. In the gloomy days of winter, I could lose track of this truth, that there were many, many kind humans looking out for others, simply because they felt they should. I stepped up onto the planks and came to the middle of the bridge, leaning my elbows on the railing

and looking down at the water slipping past. Spring melt was flowing under my feet, and I wondered where the snowflakes had fallen that were now this water, miles from here. And where had that water been before? In clouds over another continent? Rushing through a waterfall, caught in a backyard birdbath.

Was there any part of the earth it hadn't touched? I stayed for a while, thinking my curious thoughts and feeling the sun warm my face. Eventually, I stepped off the other end of the bridge and kept walking. I knew these paths all looped back around to the trailhead, and that sooner or later I'd be back where I started. But I'd be leaving with a full cup, lungs full with exercise. Mind calmed from time spent with the trees and the moving water. And heart lifted by the kindness of friends I hadn't yet met. Sweet dreams.