Spring Rain In Ireland: Sleep Story & Bedtime

Float on a rainbow above Emerald Isle the majestic Cliffs of Moher. A mysterious whisper guides you to the picturesque town of Dingle, where you explore the colorful streets and the marina. It begins to rain and you find respite in a cozy bed and breakfast, blessed by the good fortune of the Irish faeries. You make new friends at tea and the motherly hostess takes you to your cozy guest room. The rain patters against the roof and the fire crackles in the fireplace. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Good evening.

Tonight's bedtime story for grownups and guided sleep meditation will help you fall asleep fast and deeply relax.

You are listening to Spring Rain in Ireland and in this enchanting sleep story,

You will travel to the Emerald Coastline and explore the picturesque village of Dingle.

The world is full of magic things,

Patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

The Irish poet Yeats once wrote,

On this journey,

Your senses become alive on a misty walk through the rainbow-hued buildings of the town and the marina.

Rain begins to fall,

And you are guided by a soothing whisper.

You arrive at a cozy,

Historic bed and breakfast and enjoy a meal with new friends.

The hostess leads you to your guest room,

And you fall asleep to the sounds of a crackling fire as the rain pelts against the windows.

It's time to dream away.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I am Michelle,

And as you are listening,

You may think of my voice as that of a dear and trusted friend.

I am here to help you remember that this time is just for you.

You have earned every second for relaxation,

Where I will help you use your imagination to create soothing escapes and images before you cross the bridge to your sleeping life.

At any point in the story,

You may let go of my voice if sleep calls to you.

Every second of this experience may be adjusted to best suit your needs and desires,

So find a safe place to get cozy and drift to sleep.

In the sanctuary of your room,

You are in the perfect place to enter the sanctuary of your mind,

Close your eyes and sink into your bed.

Take in a deep breath and fill your body to its utmost capacity with fresh air.

At the tip of your breath,

Open your mouth and yawn.

Wiggle if that feels right and sigh as you exhale and sink deeper into the comforts of your bed.

And when you inhale again,

Your room becomes luminous and you are surrounded by sparkling,

Green and golden light.

When you exhale,

Your breath becomes your vehicle.

You float above your bed and you are guided towards a door that has suddenly appeared in your room.

It feels as if this portal has been there all along,

But this is the first that it has been revealed to you.

The emerald and gilded light pour out of the cracks into the darkness of your bedroom.

You hear a whisper,

Come along for an adventure.

You can return at morning's light.

The door opens into the room and just like when at the beach,

In blinding beams of summer sunlight,

You are unable to see beyond the flares of golden light.

The air becomes warm and you feel a gentle tug into this beautiful,

Mysterious realm.

Your body glows in the comforting light and you float through the door.

You tingle from head to toe.

Any tension you may have been carrying now melts away.

You simply feel good and vibrant.

Every feeling brings ease and grace.

The golden and chartreuse light is now joined by rainbow streaks.

This journey fulfills an age-old childhood curiosity about what it would be like to ride atop a rainbow.

The prismatic light begins to fade and you find yourself flying in a cornflower blue sky,

Looking down on the emerald isle.

The rolling hills flow like verdant waves in more vibrant and varying shades of green than you have ever seen before.

The North Atlantic Ocean is a brilliant dark aquamarine laced with ivory crests,

Sparkling in the golden afternoon light.

The rocky coastline is covered in a blanket of bright green moss that cascades up and down the cliffs and formations of rock.

You hover above agrarian villages,

Abundant with the fertility of spring.

The land looks like a patchwork quilt,

With plots divided in shades of light apple green and avocado and shamrock green and rich forest green.

The rugged cliffs of moor are vertical drops into the ocean,

Cast in golden sunlight along the wind-swept west coast of Ireland.

The sandstone and rocky formations stand tall like walls of a fort.

The cliffs record time.

The oldest rock formations are near the base,

Where the tide is withdrawn and reveals a herd of seals.

You hear their playful song above the sound of crashing surf as they frolic and play on the beach.

You inhale the salty air as it marries the aroma of the verdant rich earth.

The words of Yeats inspire your flight,

As he once wrote,

Come fairies,

Take me out of this dull world,

For I would ride with you upon the wind,

And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

You continue to float above the emerald land,

As if riding with the fairies upon the wind.

You glide with freedom,

As if in a dream.

Reality and fantasy blend when you travel over the Ross Castle of Killarney,

Built in the 15th century.

The medieval fortress has a tower house and keep,

And the grey stones now gleam in the magical sunlight.

The upper edges of the building are like plateaued spikes of a crown.

Like a time lapse video,

You can see the many eras of the castle in suspended animation,

From the middle ages to the celebratory days of the 19th century when the castle was covered in a jacket of green moss.

To the more barren visual it provides in current times.

Really it feels as if every moment in history exists right now.

As if you are floating through time.

You pass over the lake near the castle,

And float over the gardens of the Maghre's house.

The blossoms on the trees are in full bloom around the ornate mansion.

Vibrant,

Pink rhododendrons bring a pleasantly sweet perfume.

No wonder this was once the home of a watercolor artist.

For you it's hard to imagine how so much beauty can exist in one place.

It inspires you to want to pick up a brush and glide wet paint across a canvas.

You once again hear a whisper,

Calm to tingle.

You intuitively travel above lush greenery,

Dappled with puffy ivory swatches created by grazing flocks of sheep.

Just like in a dream,

You move fluidly until you are in the heart of the village.

Your feet gracefully land in a soft thud,

Upon the narrow streets of the village of Dingle.

Your feet are dressed in lace-up boots that are buttery soft and well worn.

You wear a coat that reminds you of a beloved jacket you once owned.

Perhaps going far back into the timeline of your life,

It is custom fit to your body now and hugs around you perfectly,

Keeping you warm against the damp,

Cool spring air.

The heels of your boots tap on the narrow sidewalk of the colorful village.

The two and three story historic buildings are stacked next to one another,

Snuggled like tropical birds in a nest.

The old buildings are painted in vibrant marigold and royal blue,

In teal and mint and forest green,

In mustard,

Tangerine and coral red.

The shops and pubs are painted with contrasting white trim,

And hand painted signs hang beside their vivid doors.

No building is painted in the same hue,

And the vibrant colors feel so fitting for a peninsula often visited by rainbows.

Silver grey clouds begin to move in and shade the village from the sun.

Green rolling hills wrap around the town center,

And you can see silvery rainfall from the purple grey clouds in the distance.

The sunlight streaks through the clouds into rainbow forms.

It zails across the sky,

Like a bridge to dingle.

You walk by pubs and old historic shops that sell warm wool sweaters and maritime knick-knacks.

The aromas of fish and chips and Irish stews waft from the pubs settle against the briny Atlantic Ocean,

And the sweet smell of spring rain on the way.

You listen to the melodic sounds of the Irish dialect and Gaelic echoing down the narrow streets.

Spontaneous peels of laughter sing through the animated chorus of voices like soloing violins.

It's soothing to visit a place where a simple greeting sounds like a familiar song,

And locals ooze friendliness as passionately as the colorful buildings ooze charm.

You continue to walk through the village and pass a three-piece Irish band that plays folk music on the corner.

A couple of visitors spontaneously taken over by the gaiety of the day and the welcomeness of dingle begin to dance in the street.

You stop for a moment to watch,

And a small crowd forms,

Tapping and clapping along to the music as well.

And suddenly you are no longer strangers,

As you are joined in a moment of camaraderie.

The words of Yeats once again inspire the moment.

For this poet knew his land and his people.

He wrote,

There are no strangers here,

Only friends you've yet to meet.

You look into the twinkling blue and green and brown eyes of people you have never met before.

Everyone smiles warmly,

With both their eyes and mouths.

You feel the corners of your lips continue to rise into the biggest grin you have worn in some time.

Joy is contagious,

And it has spread throughout the village of Dingle on this spring day,

At last beyond the darkness of winter and a season of hibernation.

It is time to be free and awaken to the beauty of the outside world.

A mist forms,

And you feel the tiny droplets and your face in bare hands.

The blue sky is slowly overtaken by lavender grey and dark grey clouds,

But the threat of rain does little to face the members of the village.

You continue on your way,

Down towards the marina,

And on the gradually winding street,

You feel a deep connection to this village.

Dingle feels like your new home.

The history of the land and the town permeate every experience and every corner you turn.

As you walk towards the water,

You come to a grassy path covered in dew.

Your feet remain dry as they sink into the rich earth.

A seagull flies overhead,

Singing loudly,

If only to proclaim,

I am here.

I am part of Dingle too.

Ireland is a place so beautiful,

So magical,

That part of you wishes to declare at this moment in time that you are part of its unfolding history as well.

For sometimes,

The briefest moment can be enough to change a lifetime.

You arrive at the harbor,

And the gently rippling water is like metallic silk,

Billowing on a breeze beneath the pewter sky.

You slowly turn 360 degrees,

And from every angle you see rolling emerald hills that ebb and flow beneath the seemingly endless sky.

In the marina,

Dozens of masts reach towards the sky like pearly white conductor's wands.

You take in a deep breath to feel the full capacity of your lungs as they expand and inhale the briny air of the Irish coast.

You walk past a group of fishermen.

They cast their lines into the water like centuries of people who came to this very place before them.

You walk towards the beach and sit on a smooth large rock.

You grab a pebble from the shore.

You make a quiet promise to yourself that each skip across the water will make a wish come true.

After all,

You have been told there is luck to be found on the emerald isle,

Where more four leaf clovers may be found than anywhere else.

You watch as the stone skips one,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Four times.

You close your eyes and feel the breeze pick up.

You sink into the moment and imagine the four wishes you most would enjoy coming true.

You see the first one,

The second,

The third,

The fourth.

You feel the same enchantment and dreaming about these wishes as you do when exploring Ireland and letting your imagination wander.

You rise from the rock and wave goodbye to the fishermen.

For a moment they come out of their trance and politely wave in return.

You walk back towards the town.

The heart of the village appears more vibrant than when you left,

Now set against a backdrop of stormy skies.

From a distance,

The village looks like a fancy oversized box of crayons nestled among the rolling green gnolls.

The rock has settled your mind,

But you feel more peaceful and present than when the journey began.

The first big drops of rain splat on your cheek and bare hands.

They fall on the glistening sidewalk,

One at a time.

But you do not worry,

Because once again you hear the soothing whisper.

Turn right at the corner and then head into the first blue door you see.

The rain comes down harder.

You pass by a chocolate shop and watch as visitors tuck into the shop to stay dry.

You walk by a new shop and watch a man dart out of the store.

He holds a newspaper over his head to keep dry.

You approach the corner and turn right on a quiet lane.

You come to a row of two story wooden buildings in varying shades of blue.

From powder blue to aquamarine to periwinkle to sapphire to marine blue.

You feel as if you are diving into the ocean,

Starting in the light surface waters and then traveling to the deepest blues of the sea floor.

Yet all the doors are painted in shades of cream and yellow.

And it is only at the end of the lane that you come to an old stone cottage with a bright blue door.

A hand painted sign hangs from a cast iron hook and reads,

O'Brien's Bed and Breakfast.

You enter the front door and a bell rings.

The warm and dry air of the foyer wraps around you like a welcome embrace.

It is a reprieve from the damp spring air.

Outside the rain falls steadily and taps against the old glass windows.

You look around and see miniature cottages with intricate hand painted flourishes in vibrant colors.

They are covered with a blanket of green moss and tiny twinkling white lights.

It is a fairy village put on display,

Surrounded by wild spring flowers that fragrant the dry sweet air of the old dwelling.

You hear the familiar voice that guided you.

Once a whisper,

Now fully clear,

Welcoming you by name.

You hear the voice before the woman appears,

Beneath the glow of a lamp.

She could be a fairy herself.

She is light and delicate,

And her blue-green eyes are deep pools,

Glistening with wisdom.

She introduces herself as Maureen O'Brien,

The innkeeper.

She helps you remove your coat and hangs it on an antique wooden coat tree.

She explains it is the luck of the fairies that have kept her in business,

Going back to her great grandmother who once ran the local inn.

She explains that all who arrive at her door have been specially invited because they are in need and deserving of time to rest and heal.

She brings a towel to you and asks,

May I?

You nod and she begins to dry off your hair,

Massaging your scalp in a mothering way.

Once dry,

She invites you to follow her to the dining room,

Where other guests are at tea,

The evening meal.

You walk past a roaring fireplace in the cozy main room that is surrounded by the first edition copies of novels and poems from the greatest Irish writers that fill the recessed bookshelves.

The rain continues to patter on the windows,

Streaking down the glass and making the colorful buildings on the street look like melted oil pastels.

In the dining area,

You are greeted by fellow travellers.

Once again you have the sense you have met before.

An Irish setter named Lily lays on the floor fast asleep,

Having given in to the soporific sounds of the rain and having given up on begging for food scraps.

Her beautiful shiny coat gleams in the dimly lit room.

Tall tapered candles are set around the dining room and burn brightly.

The flames flicker and shadows dance on the cream walls that are decorated with the very scenes you flew above on the emerald isle.

You sit at the table and the innkeeper brings you a bowl of hot stew.

A guest passes a basket of soda bread and a plate of fresh butter that has a vibrant marigold hue.

You break the warm bread in your hands and the butter melts as soon as you spread it.

The smell of the rain and the books creates a soothing fragrance of new and old.

It is almost as if you could see these smells like floating ribbons that braid together and are joined by the satisfying fragrance of this meal created with love.

All together the intoxicating aromas leave you with the familiar sensation of home.

They conjure memories of feeling safe and belonging even though you are so very far away from your own bed.

You listen to the guests,

Some local to Ireland while others have come from around the world.

The different tones and accents are secondary to the universal feeling of friendships that comes out of this meal.

Once again you feel you are in a dream as time passes quickly and before you know it,

The darkness of night has set in.

One by one the guests have disappeared to their rooms and you are alone with the sleeping Irish setter and Maureen.

The candles have burned down and she begins to blow them out.

The skinny black smoke trails rise towards the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling.

You say good night to Lily and softly scratch her ears.

They perk up and she opens her glossy cold eyes to look at you lovingly before she returns to her blissful sleep.

Maureen guides you through the main living area towards a wooden staircase that leads to the second floor guest rooms.

You walk up the creaky stairs and run your hand on the cool satiny banister.

At the landing you follow Maureen to the second door and it opens into the coziest of rooms you have ever seen.

A fire crackles in the stone fireplace and warms the room with an amber glow.

An antique canopy bed sits in the center of the room,

Covered in a handmade quilt that reminds you of the diverse green patches of land you saw on your journey to Dingle.

She says all that you need is here in this room and then wishes you good night.

She leaves you to be and softly closes the door behind her.

You find a pair of soft linen pajamas that have your name embroidered above the shirt pocket.

You remove your shoes and change out of your clothes and into the comfortable pajamas.

Your bare feet step on a soft rug and in the cool wooden planks of the floor as you walk to the washroom.

You find a toothbrush and locally made soap.

You turn on the water of the antique white sink and wash away the thin coating of dry salt that remains on your skin from your walk in the sea mist.

The soap smells clean and crisp like the emerald meadows of spring.

You then brush your teeth and your mouth tingles with mint.

You look into the mirror and see your freshly scrubbed face.

You look tired,

But in a good way.

Your eyes sparkle with contentment that you have not paid much attention to in some time,

But that sparkle is present even at the end of this long adventurous day.

You turn off the light,

You peel back the heavy quilt and crisp sheets that smell like they were dried by the sun in the Irish meadows.

As you slip into the bed,

You get a vision of clotheslines in the sun,

The sheets surrendering to the winds that blow over the rolling emerald hills.

You feel like surrendering as well to the comforts of this room and the comforts of this friendly land.

Your head sinks deep into the pillow and the marmalade flames continue to cast the room in a soft glow.

The fire licks the soot covered walls of the fireplace.

You take in a deep breath and sigh.

Your body is heavy and tired.

Every need and desire is met.

And you find peace.

The words of Yeats express,

And I shall have some peace there,

For peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sinks.

The veil of sleep now comes over you,

Protecting you in its healing,

Soft embrace.

The rain trickles down the windows that are covered with ivory lace curtains.

Your eyelids like curtains close softly.

The crackling fire and soothing spring rain lure you to sleep.

And I am going to count you down to a night of magical,

Dream filled sleep where you may live out the four wishes that you cast off the peninsula of Dingle,

Where you may allow the luck of the fairies to welcome you with open arms.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

One.

Finding bliss.

Finding rest.

Finding respite.

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

I absolutely love your bedtime stories! Thank you

Thank you!

Wonderful, as always. Thank you so much

Very relaxing. I actually thought I was in Ireland. 😊

Totally awesome!! Thank you

Totally awesome!!!❤️thank you

You captured the character and beauty of my country so well. Thank you for this lovely connection to home.

I have always wanted to go to Ireland and felt like I was there. Thank you for another wonderful sleep story.

Love this trip to Ireland in the spring time! Thanks, Michelle, for sharing your amazing writing skills and imagination!

Yay, thank you, Michelle 🙏🏻😴🙏🏻😴🙏🏻😴🙏🏻

I so enjoyed this before falling asleep. How I would love to visit colorful Dingle! Thanks so much, Michelle!🍀💚🙏🍀💚🙏