Sometimes when I can't sleep, I find myself wishing for a gentle voice to keep me company. Someone who will paint pleasant pictures in my mind, share comforting thoughts, and maybe be just a little bit boring in a good way. Like that favorite aunt who tells lovely stories about her garden.Tonight's episode is a little different from our usual format. Instead of our typical guided visualization, I'm going to share with you the first in a series of letters from a recently retired teacher named Eleanor. She's moved to a small coastal village called Port Haven, and her letters to a former student capture the gentle rhythm of life by the sea.And there's something especially soothing and sleep-inducing about seeing the world through Eleanor's eyes, the way she notices the morning mist, and the boats in the harbor, and the quiet moments in her garden. But before we begin reading Eleanor's letter, I need to mention something important. You absolutely need to be somewhere safe before listening, like your comfortable bed.And this is that awkward moment where every podcaster has to ask for follows or reviews. And I know we all do it and it's tiring to hear, but it really does help me know that you're out there listening in the dark. Think of it as your good deed for the day.And to those of you who are already followers, thank you. Now let's take a moment to find a position that feels completely comfortable. You might want to adjust your pillow or shift your shoulders slightly.Maybe wiggle your toes until everything feels just right. There's no rush. Take all the time you need to settle in.Now begin to notice your breathing. Don't try to change it just yet. Simply observe how you're breathing right now.Notice the gentle rise and fall of your chest and the natural rhythm of your breath. Let's start to deepen that breath very gradually. As you breathe in, feel your lungs expanding.And as you exhale, let it flow out naturally, like a gentle tide going out. Take another deep breath in. Hold it for just a moment and then release it with a soft sigh.Feel how your body becomes a little heavier with each exhale, sinking deeper into your bed. Continue breathing deeply and slowly. Each inhale brings peaceful energy, and each exhale releases any tension you might be holding.Your breath is becoming deeper and slower. Begin to notice how your body is responding. Feel your heartbeat gradually slowing and your blood pressure gently lowering.Your brainwaves are shifting into that peaceful pre-sleep state. Notice your muscles are becoming softer and looser. Those little muscles around your eyes and mouth are softening, and your fingers and your toes are completely relaxed. Each exhale carries you closer to the perfect state for sleep. Your mind is becoming quieter and calmer, and ready to drift along with Eleanor's peaceful words. Dear Sarah, It's just after dawn as I write this, and I'm sitting at my desk watching the morning fog roll in from the sea. I've only been here a short time, but I'm continually surprised by the various colors of the ocean. Right now it's a misty wet greenish gray, but when the sun is shining, the water sparkles against a brilliant blue sky. When it's like this and the fog rolls across the sand and up the embankment to my cottage, it reminds me of a soft blanket being pulled over the garden.It's a very comforting feeling when I'm warm and cozy in my little house. I've got my first cup of tea for the day, and the cats are curled in their usual spots by the window. There's such a slow pace to life here.Nothing is hurried. It's so relaxed. Your letter made my day when it arrived yesterday.To think you're teaching in room 23 now. Those east-facing windows must still catch the morning sun, just like they always did. I spend so many years watching the sunrise through those windows while getting ready for the day. Remember how the light would always hit the old map of the world first? I hope you're enjoying that room as much as I did. Life here by the sea has fallen into such a peaceful rhythm. My cottage, which I've named Rosehaven, a bit corny I know, sits on a little hill overlooking the bay.The previous owner was clearly a dedicated gardener, and while some of the flowerbeds have gone a bit wild, there's still so much beauty here. This morning, I spotted the first snowdrops pushing through under the apple tree. Always the first sign that spring is on its way.The garden is especially beautiful on a misty spring morning like this. I took a walk out there this morning, admiring the dew that settled on the plants, making each leaf and stem glisten. Those old peonies I discovered last year are pushing their deep red shoots through the soil.They look like little burgundy fists punching up into the air. I've learned to love these early spring moments in the garden, before the full blooms arrive. There's such promise in all the tiny green tips poking through. Each one a surprise, waiting to unfold. This morning, I noticed the first leaves unfurling on the clematis that climbs along the old stone wall. They're such delicate things, these new leaves, almost transparent when the early light shines through them.The forget-me-nots have spread everywhere while I wasn't looking. Tiny clusters of blue appearing in every corner of the garden. They're technically weeds, I suppose, but they're too charming to pull out.The way they peek through the morning mist reminds me of how the kids' faces used to emerge from the crowd as they filed into the classroom each morning. I have to say, as lovely and quiet as life is now, there are some things I miss about teaching, especially the kids. I still wake up early, just like I did during my teaching years.But instead of rushing to get to school, I take my time now. Breakfast in my sunroom has become my favorite part of the day. I love watching the fishing boats heading out, their sails bright against the morning sky. The fishing boats are heading out now, making their way across the misty harbor in their usual order. Old Pete's weathered trawler always leads the way. You can tell it's his by the faded blue trim and the way it leans slightly to port.He's been fishing these waters for over 40 years. Behind him, three or four smaller boats follow like ducklings, their navigation lights glowing softly in the dawn light. A pair of gannets has taken to following Pete's boat each morning, diving into his wake.He says they're the same birds that followed his father's boat years ago, though I'm not sure that's possible. The fishing industry isn't what it used to be in Port Haven. Most of the bigger boats have moved to the commercial port up the coast.But our small fleet keeps going, supplying the local restaurants and the Friday morning market. I've gotten into the habit of buying my fish from young Tommy who runs his grandfather's boat now. He's got this cute way of describing each fish as if it has its own personality. This one's a bit shy, he'll say. Or here's a feisty fellow who led us on quite a chase. It makes choosing fish for dinner feel like adopting a pet though. I try not to think about that too much. I finally mastered the local way of cooking cod. Though it took me several tries and a rather amused lesson from Mrs. Bennett at the grocery store.The trick, apparently, is to keep it simple. Just a light dusting of flour, a pinch of sea salt, and a knob of butter in the pan. The butter has to be local too. From the dairy farm, The Hill. It's got a slightly golden color that somehow makes everything taste better. I like to eat my dinner in the sunroom watching the boats coming back into the harbor while the sun sets.There's something so satisfying about knowing exactly where your food comes from. About seeing the whole journey from sea to plate. Sometimes I think the fish tastes better just because I watched Tommy's boat heading out at dawn to catch it.You asked about what I do with my days now that I'm not teaching. Well, the garden keeps me busy most mornings. There's something so satisfying about getting my hands in the soil.I've been clearing out the old flower beds bit by bit and discovering all sorts of surprises. Yesterday I found a whole patch of herb plants that had been hidden under some overgrown grass, thyme, and sage, and what I think might be old lavender plants. The bees are going to love it when those start blooming again. The local library has become my second home. It's in this lovely old building with big windows and comfy chairs tucked into all the corners. The librarian, Anne, keeps a shelf of gardening books for me.We started sharing coffee and we talk about books during the quiet afternoon hours. She's got me hooked on these fascinating books about the history of botanical paintings. Who knew I'd develop such an interest in old flower illustrations? I'll send you some information on them if you're interested. The village itself is just my speed these days. Remember how I used to rush around between classes? Always racing to get everything done. Here, nobody rushes.The post office doubles as a coffee shop and people actually take time to stop and chat. Even Bob, our postman, takes his time on his rounds. I met him at the hardware store last weekend shopping with his wife and he introduced me. She's from the Misty River which is just northwest of where we are and it's a place I'd love to visit or go antique shopping some weekend. It's very picturesque and has all those covered bridges that people seem to love and they're quite well known for their jams. Jams of all flavors and some quite odd like carrot cake and vanilla peach and bourbon fig and spiced rum and can you imagine cinnamon cantaloupe.I've started taking evening walks along the shore. There's a path that winds past the old lighthouse and I found this perfect bench for watching the sunset. Sometimes I bring a book but mostly I just sit and watch the waves.It's amazing how the sea never looks quite the same two days in a row. Last night it was this incredible shade of silver blue that reminded me of those art projects we used to do with metallic paint. The cottage itself is still a work in progress.The kitchen needs updating and there's always another squeaky floorboard to fix but I kind of love that about it. I've hung wind chimes in the garden not too many just enough to catch the sea breeze. The cats are fascinated by them especially Max. He sits and stares at it for ages. I think it's the movement he's interested in. Well he's never been the smartest cat.I saw him yesterday chasing a leaf around the garden for almost an hour. It's a good thing he's handsome with his sleek gray coat and big amber eyes and he loves to cuddle which I like. At night when the sea is loud and the wind is wild he'll snuggle up beside me and purr.It's comforting to have his warm little body close by. I smiled at your worries about managing the classroom. Trust me I remember those early days so well. That feeling of looking at all those young faces and wondering if you're doing everything right is normal. But you know what I learned over the years? It's the quiet moments that matter most. When a student finally understands something they've been struggling with or when someone shares a story that makes the whole class think.Those moments will find you Sarah. Just keep yourself open to them. I know you'll be like me sometimes exhausted by the challenge but just loving how engaged and rewarding the good days can be.The fog is starting to lift now and I can see the dew sparkling on the spider webs in the garden. I should probably go out and water the plants before it gets too warm. Write again when you can.I'd love to hear how your poetry unit is going. Are kids still as excited about Emily Dickinson as you were? I bet you're an amazing teacher. Take care, Eleanor.P.S. I've started pressing flowers in my old poetry books. Maybe I'll send you one in my next letter. As Eleanor's letters come to a close, keep breathing deeply and softly.Let the peaceful images she shared settle in your mind like the morning mist settling over her garden. Maybe you can picture that cozy cottage by the sea and the gentle sound of wind chimes in the breeze. The soft purring of Max the cat curled up nearby.Just as the fog rolls in to blanket Port Haven each morning, you'll sleep beginning to wrap around you with that same gentle persistence. There's no need to chase after sleep. Simply rest here in these peaceful thoughts.Picture yourself in that sunroom watching the fishing boats return in the golden evening light or sitting on that bench by the lighthouse as the waves lap against the shore. Let your mind drift between these soothing images as sleep draws near. The quiet routines of Eleanor's days, the simplicity of life by the sea, the safety of her cozy cottage.Rest now knowing that like the tide coming in, sleep will arrive in its own perfect time. I'm Suzanne and this is your ticket to Snoozeville. Sleep now.Sleep deeply. Sleep well.