The Spring Fayre | Guided Deep Sleep Story

This deeply relaxing guided sleep story is a story set in our fantasy world known as The Haven, to where spring has come.
Leaving your house, you go to join the villagers for their small spring fair and music as the moon rises.
Suitable for all ages, this sleep story will have you counting zzz's before you reach the end.

Transcript

This guided audio recording is created to gently guide you into a deep state of relaxation from where you will have the option to drift off to sleep.

In a few moments you will embark on a pleasant and gentle journey of visualisation that will take place within your mind.

This story is set in a mythical village known as The Haven and is one of many stories you can find in our Haven series.

To begin your journey,

Find a comfortable place where you will not be disturbed and sit or lie down.

Close your eyes and take a few long deep breaths,

Allowing yourself to relax.

Now just fall into a natural breathing pattern and enjoy this immersive experience.

The winter sleep is over and spring has come to The Haven in an exuberance of colourful blossoms and unfurling leaves.

Migratory birds have flown in to nest and the very air seems to tingle with light and growth.

For the last few weeks,

The village has been preparing for the spring fair.

Because not many people live in The Haven,

It will not be a big event,

But there will be crafts and food stalls,

A meal provided by the shop and inn,

And when the sun sets,

An informal dance.

No one seemed in the least bit worried that it might rain or be cold.

The old lady,

When you spoke to her,

Laughed and said it never rained on this day.

And when you woke up this morning,

You saw a fine mist lifting off the land and soon the sun bathed The Haven in gentle warmth.

Just after lunch,

You walk down to the village through your small wood,

Where anemones and primroses star the earth under the trees.

The little stream is running high with rain from the far-off moors,

And the sound is cheerful and bright as the day.

Everywhere is the sound of whispering leaves and birdsong,

And you stop to look down toward the great oak.

Its leaves are already unfurled,

And its sheltering branches seem to lift up toward the sky.

You nod to the huge old tree,

As if greeting an old friend,

Before walking on and leaving the wood for the field.

Across the field,

The fairy wood,

Too,

Is rich with springtime growth,

Though there is always that sense of waiting and mystery about it.

The area where the fairy ring grew is a circle of darker grass.

Though there are no mushrooms growing now,

They will return,

You think,

In the autumn.

You go down toward that gate leading on to the village street and past the standing stones,

Pausing to lay your hand on one.

They feel faintly warm,

As always,

With a slight thrum that prickles your fingers.

It is one of the places where you can actually feel the warding power that guards the haven.

It is a deep feeling,

Far down in the earth,

And the reason that this place is so safe.

Going through the gate,

You see that the walled village green has,

For today,

Become a fair.

There are stalls lining the way down toward the little harbour.

The houses that line the street have their windows open and their front gardens are bright with spring flowers.

Blossoming trees whisper in the warm breeze,

And petals scatter across you.

The small tea garden beside the shop has its tables set for refreshments,

And further on,

The old inn has also chairs and tables set out.

Even the small fishing boats in the tiny harbour are decked with bunting.

People wave and smile at you as you walk.

Sometimes you stop at the stalls and look at what is being sold.

It is all local,

Cakes and bread,

Honey,

Preserves,

Ales and wines,

Pictures set in frames,

Pottery,

Embroidery.

If you choose something,

The stall holder will have it delivered to your house,

So there is no need to carry it around.

You decide to stop at the shop and sit in the tea garden for a while.

You know the owners well,

And as soon as they see you,

They smile and bring you a drink and something to eat.

You relax,

Watching the people of the haven pass up and down the street,

Or stop to talk.

For the first time,

It occurs to you that not many people live here,

Or rather are invited here.

It makes you feel extremely privileged.

All of them are kind,

Good-hearted,

Accepting people.

You don't know where they came from,

What land,

What city or town,

Or even how they came to be here.

But once in the haven,

It does not matter.

After your tea and cake,

You walk slowly up to the little harbour,

And look out over the bay toward the headland,

Where the pine trees stand like guardians to the open sea.

The bay is calm and the water clear.

You breathe in the briny scent for a while,

Then stroll your way back through the village and turn down the lane between the cottages that leads to the beach.

The back of a dolphin showed,

Smooth and grey as it curves out of the water.

And then another,

And then you smile.

You know that they follow the rising boats out,

And the sailors think of them as good luck.

You've heard the murmurs that they are actually merfolk,

Who choose to look like dolphins most of the time.

Thinking of what you have seen in the haven,

You would not be surprised if it were true.

For a while,

You simply watch the sea and listen to the soft curl and sigh as the soft wavelets break and withdraw.

The high cliffs rise to the south,

And the seabirds nesting look like tumbled white flecks against the blue sky.

Gradually,

You realise that the sun is lowering,

And that it is time for dinner.

You walk back down the lane and into the street.

Most of the stalls are still open,

But people are now ready to eat and relax before the dancing later.

Outside the inn,

Tables have spilled out like a continental street cafe,

And the old lady waves at you to join her.

The sea and spring air has made you quite hungry,

And you tuck into the wonderful food.

By now,

You completely trust the innkeeper,

As well as the shopkeeper,

To know what you can eat.

But it is always a pleasant surprise not to have to explain or worry about it.

When your dinner has gone down,

You wander back to the stalls,

Stopping by one you are sure was not there before.

Its small and beautiful silver items have been set out.

Necklaces,

Bracelets,

Rings and earrings.

The stallholder stands back under a deep awning.

They seem to be wearing a long cloak with the hood over their face,

Rather like the ponytrap driver.

Still,

This kind of mystery is just part of the haven.

You have thought about the fairy wood and the fae,

And the white stag,

Who is not a stag at all,

And wonder if the inhabitants of the wood might choose to move around the haven,

Hiding themselves or in disguise.

And so you linger,

Looking at the bright silver.

Everything is so exquisitely made that you are astonished,

And really can't choose one thing.

In a quiet voice,

The stallholder asks if they might suggest a good luck charm for you.

In the haven,

You feel that a good luck charm is exactly what it says.

You agree,

And they tell you to hold out your hand and close your eyes.

Smiling a little,

You do so,

And feel a cool,

Metallic object dropped onto your open palm.

Looking at it,

You see a truly beautiful silver pendant in the shape of a sprig of yew tree,

And edged with tiny glittering stones.

A heavy silver chain allows it to hang about your neck.

The stallholder tells you not to forget it.

Even if you need to go into the outside world,

It still has power.

You nod.

You have already felt the power of the fairy wood and the ancient yew in its depths.

Automatically,

You search for some money to pay for it,

And they laugh softly,

And shake their head,

Telling you it is a gift.

You ask if it could be delivered to your house with the rest of your purchases,

And they tell you,

Of course.

You hear someone nearby say something about the music beginning,

And you look around.

When you look back to thank the stallholder,

They are gone.

Pondering this,

You join the villagers who are walking up toward the standing stones,

And already hear the music.

A few people are dancing,

Not in or around the stones,

But nearby.

Sunset light falls mellowly across the fields and the woods,

And as the dusk creeps in,

You see lanterns have been bought,

Or are being held to provide soft light.

A small stall has been erected and serves hot drinks,

Tea,

Coffee,

Hot chocolate,

And mulled wine.

Chairs have also been set out.

You don't know who is playing the music,

But it has an unearthly and beautiful quality that draws you in.

You see even the old lady dancing a jig,

Sprightly and clearly enjoying herself.

There are no set pieces,

No formality.

People are just dancing however they wish,

Or clapping if they don't want to dance.

And the faces you see in the lamplight are smiling.

A huge spring moon floats above the trees of the fairy wood,

Spreading its own silver light across the land.

People dance,

Then break away to get a drink,

Rest and talk in low voices,

But the music continues,

Otherworldly and spellbinding.

Lights flicker in the dark field,

Not fireflies you think,

But you cannot make out what they are.

The night grows darker and the cool scent of a spring night drifts over you,

Sharp and fresh.

You sip a hot drink and watch.

Now there seems to be more dancers than there are people in the haven.

You glimpse the flash and flicker of a lamp,

And moonlight on long hair.

The glitter has off jewels.

You straighten as the people become clear.

The fae of the wood have come out to dance.

They weave like water and light among the folk of the haven,

Who do not seem to notice them at all.

Surprised,

You look around.

You are quite right,

No one sees them except you and the old lady.

She is standing quite close to you,

And you see her smile over her glass of hot wine and incline her head.

Then she turns her bright old gaze upon you and winks,

Sharing the secret.

In a shimmer of light and a scent like the deeps of the fairy wood,

One of the fae approaches you.

The moonlight sparks on their crown.

They bow to you and then offer their hand,

Feeling as if you are in a dream.

You allow yourself to be lifted up and dance.

It is effortless,

As if you are floating.

You feel as if you could run to the moors without taking a breath,

Or jump to the moon.

When you stop,

You see that everyone has gone,

Save for the old lady and the fae.

You both walk across to her and she smiles.

The fae takes your hand,

Opens it and places something in your palm.

You see the charm that you were gifted at the jewellery store earlier and are startled.

Then they walk away,

Fading into a shimmer of light.

The old lady looks at you and says it's time to go home.

The night is calm and silver under the moon.

As you walk back up the field and through the wood,

You see a fox trot across the path and hear,

Far away,

The call of an owl.

The newly opened leaves rustle in the faint breeze.

You cross the tiny bridge and step out onto the lane.

You can see the porch light of your house glowing warmly in the night.

The old lady turns to you,

She gives your hand a little pat and tells you that some people are special.

Then with a smile,

She walks away,

Down the lane,

Toward her own cottage.

You let yourself into your home and go up to bed.

Going to the window of your bedroom,

You look out onto your garden and see,

For a moment,

A flash of white.

The white stag lowers its head and then turns and jumps the hedge,

Running lightly away toward the fairy wood.

You smile and place your charm on the bedside table and get ready for bed.

The air here is soporific and you always sleep deeply.

Snuggling down,

You think of the day,

The fair,

The kind people and the dance.

You think of the fae that no one except you and the old lady could see,

And of her parting words that some people are special.

You relax,

Drifting deeper into complete relaxation.

Your limbs seem to dissolve into the comfort of the bed.

From the window,

A little breath of sweet night air drifts in and you hear the caw of a distant owl.

Whatever the magic of the haven,

You know you are always safe.

Reviews

Lovely and magical ❤️🙏🏵️

I just love the Haven stories. Please keep them coming!🙏