Cozy Bookshop By The Sea | Rainy Bedtime Story

Get swept away to another time and place with this rainy bedtime story for grown-ups to help ease anxiety as you fall asleep, Let tonight's sleepy tale carry you to a tranquil sea wharf in a New England village, where the Atlantic Bookshop beckons. Rain taps softly on the windows, lulling you into a dreamlike state as you explore the cozy bookshop. In the cozy parlor and the apartment above, literary luminaries and poets inspire your dreams. Immerse yourself in the world of storytelling, where reality and fiction blur, and let the words gently guide you into peaceful slumber. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

As you escape in the beautiful embrace of a sleep routine,

Travel through space and time to a rainy New England sea wharf in the mid-19th century,

You are listening to Cozy Bookshop by the Sea,

A relaxing bedtime story for grown-ups.

Nestled along the rocky coastline,

The Atlantic Bookshop has drawn the most beloved writers and creative minds.

Their energy permeates the dimly lit aisles of books and a special parlor,

Where you read a beloved novel looking out at the sea.

Raindrops stream down the windows and the stormy surf crashes against the wharf,

As you follow a set of hidden stairs to a charming apartment.

In the honeyed glow of a fire,

You fall into a deep restorative sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I am Michelle,

Your guide to sleepy adventures and a trusted ally at the end of the day.

I meet you here on the edge of sleep to inspire your mind to conjure cozy settings and self-soothe.

You deserve to prioritize rest and your mental well-being.

When you close your eyes,

You begin the process of shutting out the noise and activity of the world and slipping into the sanctuary of your mind.

In this space,

You decide what stays and what goes.

At any point,

You may allow my voice to fade away as you drift to sleep.

The details of this journey will gently influence your subconscious mind,

Ushering in blissful dreams that will rejuvenate and restore you when you awaken.

Wiggle and get comfy,

Finding stillness when you are ready.

Treat this time as your nightly vacation,

Where you envision the kind of world you wish to inhabit.

Embrace the vivid tapestry of a New England coastal village,

Fading away from the frenetic energy of the modern world.

A little bit more with each breath.

Imagine the haven of your room transforms as salty mist fills the air around you and the distant sounds of crashing waves may be heard.

Feel the maritime energy infuse your senses as you focus on your breath and let out a breath.

Wrapped snugly in your bed,

You feel light of heart as you inhale slowly,

Digging in the saltwater air and smell of approaching rain.

The air prepares you,

Captivating your imagination with tales of the sea and perhaps even your own beachside memories.

At the top of your breath,

Only if it feels good,

You may yawn and then sigh.

In your daily life,

Sighing and yawning may be frowned upon,

But in the luxury of this moment,

Do whatever helps open you up to receiving the tides of peace and well-being that night can offer.

As you continue,

Delve into the sublime feeling of completely letting go.

Continue to breathe at the rhythm and tempo that suits you best in this moment.

Inhale and exhale,

Your chest rising and falling as naturally as the Atlantic Ocean on the calmest of days.

Inhale and exhale,

Making space for release,

Bliss,

And inner peace.

All tension that may have accumulated in the hidden nooks of your body dissolves more with each breath.

As your breath settles into its natural rhythm,

Bask in the newfound relaxation that sets the tone for the story to come.

As we travel to an enchanting coastal village,

No time in history is ever perfect,

And no place is ever utopia,

But for those who look at life through a particular filter,

Beauty always overwhelms the darkness,

Even on dark,

Stormy days.

The coastal villages that scatter the eastern seaboard from New York to Maine are no strangers to the ferocity of Mother Nature.

The tales from sailors returning to the shores often matched the imaginations of loved ones,

Awaiting their safe passage home.

For centuries,

This longing for home has cast its spell on the sea wharf you explore.

The feeling still lingers in the sea mist as you arrive in the early 1960s,

Swept away by another time.

A time when fishing villages still thrive,

And a sense of community and kindness make even new visitors like yourself feel at home.

You walk along the rocky shore of a peninsula that creates natural harbors to the north and the south.

At the furthest point,

Steps lead to the edge of a sea wharf,

Where the Atlantic Bookshop has existed since the Victorian era,

A testament to the village's love of literature and commitment to education.

It stands as a beacon of creativity and promise,

A place where ideas are celebrated and explored.

The willing souls who step beyond the antique doors of the historic shop may tap into the shop's inspiration and embrace their inner storyteller.

These days,

People spend their time telling these stories silently,

Leaving them to paint the walls of their minds.

The Atlantic Bookshop provides a place to let them all out.

You take a few moments to enjoy the damp air and the pebbled beach,

Watching as a young girl and her brother dart away from the waves,

Not quite old enough for school.

They reap the benefits of being free to play all day,

Dressed in scarlet and brown plaid wool jackets that come to their knees,

Just above the girl's skirt and the boy's knickers.

They do their best to keep their tan leather shoes dry from the surf.

Their attire seems formal for an afternoon walk on the beach,

Yet you find yourself dressed in more formal clothes than you normally wear as well,

Heavy,

Well-stitched classic staples of New England fashion in the early 60s.

A sky-blue station wagon is parked on the beach,

Where the children's mother peers at the incoming storm clouds.

Stray strands of hair escape her updo,

Even as she adjusts them beneath a sheer silk scarf that flutters on the cool breeze.

Just a few weeks ago,

The beaches were overwhelmed with vacationers and firepits,

Transistor radios blasting the latest tunes loud enough that the sounds of the sea seemed to be a scant whisper.

But now,

In the beautiful off-season,

As the tease of autumn arrives with a storm,

The soundtrack of nature becomes amplified and pure.

The family's scruffy dog comes barreling your way,

Circling around you to join the children and their peals of laughter.

Their mother offers a casual wave and turns her dreamy stare back to the Atlantic.

The Atlantic knows that longing gaze perhaps more intimately than any human ever has.

It keeps secrets scrawled on slips of paper curled in bottles,

And the vocalized dreams and hopes better than any confident could.

You walk around a granite wall,

Carved by the sea and hands of time,

To find a place for reflection.

Reaching your arms and hands above your head,

You stretch and inhale the rich,

Damp air,

Savoring it like a tonic.

The steely grey Atlantic reflects the plum-grey skies,

Showcasing more whitecaps than found on the typically tranquil waters.

A few drops fall on your face,

Leaving a trace of salt on your lips.

The wind takes on a sharpness that contrasts the mild air,

Hinting at what's to come with the storm,

And furthermore,

What's to come as the season changes.

You continue a few hundred yards,

Hearing the faint sputter of the station wagon's engine starting.

As you arrive at a winding stone staircase carved into the rock wall,

Leading to the tip of the sea wharf,

You ascend the stairs as the rain softly patters on your coat,

Drawn to the cool sensation of droplets that splatter across the railing,

Where weathered paint flakes have chipped away over the summer.

As you ascend the final steps,

You are met by planters overflowing with sunflowers.

Their heads became heavy in the middle of September,

And so they now bow to you and even more to the rain and winds that arrive.

Not more than a few dozen steps ahead is the entrance to the Atlantic Bookshop,

Like something out of a children's storybook.

Its storefront windows give a glimpse into the warmly-lit ambience of the historic retreat for seekers of adventure,

Romance,

Mystery,

Folklore,

And truth,

And sometimes even all of the above.

The rainy cobblestones leading to the shop reflect the warm golden lights that spill from within.

They glisten with an alluring glow,

An invitation for any soul wandering in the cool rain to come in and seek refuge.

Warmy days like today,

And many New England days of inclement weather,

Serve to enhance the bookshop's irresistible and charming comforts.

Yet on sleepy weekdays,

When children have returned to the classroom and vacationers are back to their routines,

The bookshop closes at the stroke of five,

And you have been left the keys to enjoy the shop long after closing,

In exchange for caring for the shopkeeper's cat as he heads into Boston for a dinner with writers and publishers.

The brass bell rings as you open the door into the cozy shop.

Stepping beneath a bough of ivy strung across the mahogany wood frame of the door,

The air wraps around you in warm tendrils,

Meeting your nose with the sweet smell of old books and fresh cinnamon sticks arranged in the autumnal display in the storefront window.

Ready to journey into the rain,

Alfie,

The shop owner,

Wears a navy blue slicker and hat with a brown and cream plaid suitcase clutched in his knobby fingers.

He's a brilliant man,

But evokes the spirit of a scattered professor.

Caught up in lofty ideas,

Never successfully strung together,

He's yet to pen the great novel that lives within him,

But he's a brilliant storyteller and charismatic host to writers of books he sells.

Alfie places a wide ring of kings to the shop into your hand,

And your arm involuntarily succumbs to their weight,

Heavier than you expected.

Before he steps out into the steady rain,

He explains how authors and characters weave their way into daydreams and sleep when in the shop on moody nights like this.

You promise to let him know who comes to visit,

Teeming with a bit of excitement at the prospect.

Perhaps it's been some time,

Maybe even since childhood,

That you last allowed yourself to daydream in such a way.

But here,

A 79-year-old bookshop owner encourages you to embrace that mindset.

You watch as Alfie scurries toward the heart of the village to catch the train.

Soon he is only a silhouette beneath the streetlamps.

As the darkness of the storm and evening cast the idyllic seaside town in shades of blue and charcoal gray,

The ethereal glow of sconces carefully placed along the walls is a soft inviting light that dances playfully upon the aged wood and the time-worn leather of the volumes that grace the shelves.

The exposed walls of the shop are adorned with signed black and white photos of literary legends and creative luminaries,

Their timeless gazes watching over the quaint store.

Each photograph gives insight into the impact this little shop by the sea has had on the literary world.

The spirits of Hemingway,

Austen,

And Twain,

Among others,

Seem to linger,

Whispering inspiration to those who dare to listen.

You explore the narrow passages that wind between hand-crafted Italian mahogany bookshelves.

Their history dates back to the 1880s when they were dreamed up and designed by the minds and hands of artisans to be shipped across the Atlantic to find a home in the New World.

You run your fingers across the polished wood,

Admiring the intricate scrolls and wavy lines that capture the essence of a stormy sea.

The majestic bookcases house hundreds of time-worn volumes.

Some used and handled with care by the hands of people that were captivated,

And forever changed by the passages within.

And even though you are somewhere else in time,

The books hearken back to even earlier days,

Whispering secrets from generations past.

It instills in you a tangible understanding of the resilience of the human spirit.

At the end of the row of classics,

You come upon a small table that features the latest bestsellers,

Including the cherished mysteries of Agatha Christie and narratives of Kurt Vonnegut.

You continue to explore the aisles and select a book that stirs a deep longing in you,

That seems to come to the surface in this coastal town.

You carry it as the warm,

Dry air causes you to yawn in its comforting embrace.

It's a stark contrast to the torrential rain outside,

Which now falls with greater intensity,

Drumming upon the dozens of window panes that look out onto cottages and shops.

The steady patter of the raindrops provides a serene backdrop to your literary exploration.

As you make your way to the back parlor,

You feel the energy change and nurturing sensation couples with a spark of intrigue.

As you explore the gathering spot where literary giants have been known to roam freely,

Nearly every major author found solace and inspiration within its cozy confines.

Since the Atlantic Bookshop first opened its doors,

They would often gather in the parlor,

Surrounded by the warm glow of a crackling fire,

Sharing fireside dinners and bawdy stories well into the night.

And come the following morning,

They would offer enthralling readings and signings with the eager public.

The sweet,

Dry air in this time capsule of a room seems to resonate with the echoes of their voices and the power of their stories.

From the bow windows in the back of the parlor,

You take in the beautiful cottages that dapple the jagged coast.

The view distills the romance of New England as the rain heavily falls and a fog rolls in,

Gripping the dwellings with its silvery mist.

Something about the awe-inspiring tales of voyages across the Atlantic,

The bursting hope of the New World,

And the Seawolf with its ageless charm became a magnet for these visionaries.

An unseen force seemed to unlock writer's block,

Connecting these souls with the very essence of humanity and reigniting their passion for storytelling.

When it felt as though no more stories could be told,

The decor captures the elegance of the Victorian era.

Cobalt blue,

Kelly green,

And ruby red hurricane lamps grace the room.

Placed upon cream-laced doilies,

The warm,

Vibrant light pours onto a gold and taupe area rug that covers the hardwood floors.

The interplay of colors creates a hypnotic display of shadows and ethereal glows.

The space becomes dreamy as you settle in atop a plush chaise lounge by a side bay window that looks out on the Atlantic.

A beacon of white gold light cuts through the fog,

Traveling from a lighthouse to the north of the peninsula.

The parlor chairs combine comfort and craftsmanship,

Inspiring anyone who graces their seats to find the perfect posture with ease.

The upholstery is a rich array of deep blues and forest greens,

Evoking the colors of the sea and the lush landscapes of New England.

In one corner of the room,

A cherry desk stands as a tribute to literary history.

It's whispered that Herman Melville himself donated this desk after a visit,

Forever leaving his mark on the Atlantic bookshop.

Writers and poets from around the world have made pilgrimages to this sacred space,

Drawn by the desk's profound legacy.

For some time,

Alfie the shopkeeper has offered a room in the apartment above to serve as a writer's residency.

So many imaginative minds have gazed out of the window at the majestic Atlantic,

The very muse that Melville himself once beheld,

To unlock inspiration that would cause the ink to flow from their pens with a dedication of incoming waves.

The lines between the past and present blur in the bookshop,

And even more so in the parlor.

You can almost hear the rustling of pages and the murmur of voices engaged in spirited discussions about literature and life,

As you bask in the colorful light of the hurricane lamps.

Lost in the music of falling rain and the distant surf,

You take in the storied surroundings.

You open up the book you've selected,

Reading a passage that awakens lost memories in you.

The words on the page empower you with the understanding that even the loneliest of experiences are universal in ways the loneliest of times may not convey.

And perhaps the greatest intent of some of these writers was to escape the pangs of loneliness,

To find comfort in stringing words together,

Arousing and stirring feelings at times forgotten.

They dive deep into their stories and experiences,

To bridge a connection with anyone who may have experienced the same,

And to inspire empathy in those who had yet to understand them.

You place down the book as your eyes bleer and a wave of drowsiness rolls in like the fog.

You take one last moment to study the details of all that is around you,

Taking it in,

Recognizing the balance between getting lost in your imagination and getting found in the finest details of the present.

You rise as the floorboards creak beneath your feet and enter a secret passageway to winding stairs that lead to the top floor.

One by one,

You follow the dimly lit steps to a hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows that give a bird's-eye view of the coastline.

Most of the homes have turned off their lights,

Their occupants fast asleep,

Put to bed early by the soporific rain.

As you open the door into the main room,

Alfie's grey tabby cat,

Homer,

Is asleep atop a cushion in the window.

He rolls onto his back,

Stretching his legs and arms to their maximum length,

And then yawns.

His yawn causes you to yawn,

But it feels good.

The apartment is on the brink of chilly,

So you walk to the hearth that is shared with the bedroom and main room to start a fire.

The dry,

Splintered kindling catches quickly,

And sparks dance along the black-sooted stones that lead to the chimney.

The apartment is inviting,

Tidy,

And the total opposite of the creative chaos one might expect from Alfie.

The honeyed light enhances the golden gleam of pine-paneled walls.

A Tiffany-style chandelier hangs from the cathedral ceiling.

The room is lofty,

Airy,

And the perfect place to take in the storm as it rolls out to sea.

An upright piano sits in the corner,

Leading you to wonder how it magically made its way up the stairs.

Homer rubs against your legs,

Purring for affection and food.

You give him a loving pet,

And then fill his dish with food in the farmhouse-style kitchen.

He makes soft meows of pleasure as he feasts,

And you unpack some essentials from a well-worn suitcase for the night.

You retreat to the modest bathroom and wash your face with cool water and brush your teeth.

You look above the sink to discover a quote from Melville,

Painted on a piece of driftwood.

It reads,

We cannot live on for ourselves.

A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.

His words linger with you as you return to the bedroom,

Accompanying a feeling that he is there with you.

But the idea fades away as you convince yourself it's merely Homer the Cat.

You settle beneath a heavy patchwork quilt,

Sinking into the softly squeaking springs of the mattress.

As Homer crawls up at the end of the bed,

As your eyes grow heavy,

You feel a gentle pull towards the world of dreams.

The visions of literary luminaries and poets you've encountered within the bookshop come alive once more.

They whisper encouraging words,

Their influence opening you to parts of yourself you've long forgotten.

In the sacred space where the boundaries between wakefulness and slumber blur,

You are led by the stories you long to share and the stories you yearn to create.

The characters from the books you've encountered and the characters from life you've experienced seem to appear and invite you to embark on adventures of your own making.

The wordsmiths of the past and present become your guides and companions,

Stoking the embers of your imagination and nurturing the flames of your creativity.

As you slip further into the world of sleep,

You find yourself carried away in the gentle currents of your dreams.

The magic of the cozy Atlantic bookshop continues to weave its spell,

Enhanced by the falling rain.

As you embark on the odyssey of sleep,

You bring the wisdom and promise of writers and characters,

Novels and poems that have left their mark deep within your subconscious mind,

Willing to guide you.

As your life story unfolds,

Finding serenity,

Finding enchantment,

Finding peace,

Finding sleep,

It's time to dream away.

Reviews

Very soothing after a stressful day sadly didn’t hear all of it as was asleep thank you x

Woke up feeling rested! First time I did have to get up! I don’t remember the story but definitely going to repeat! I don’t feel anxious anymore about going to bed and not being able to sleep. I look forward to hearing your stories! Thank you kindly for the gift of sleep! 🤗 🙏🤗🙏🤗🙏🤗🙏🤗🙏

Such a wonderful story! Your use of such descriptive language makes it even more special! Thank you for your dedicated work. I always look so forward to hearing your new stories. In appreciation, Renée
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