Have you ever watched a gardener at work? There's something mesmerizing about their patience, the deliberate way they move from plant to plant, never rushing, each motion purposeful and gentle. Maybe you're a gardener yourself, someone who understands the quiet joy of soil beneath your fingernails and the fresh smell of green growing things. Or maybe, like me, you appreciate gardens without necessarily wanting to create one yourself.I wonder if gardeners sleep more deeply than the rest of us. There's something about their work that seems to invite restful sleep. Partly it's the physical activity, the hours spent in fresh air and natural light.But I think it's also something more fundamental. Gardeners live in harmony with natural rhythms. They understand that some things cannot be rushed.A seed germinates in its own time. A flower opens when it's ready. This acceptance of natural timing, the surrender to rhythms beyond our control.Isn't this exactly what we need for deep, restful sleep? To stop fighting against our body's needs. To let go of the idea that we can force rest through sheer will. The gardener in us knows that sometimes the most productive thing we can do is nothing at all.Just breathe. Just allow our natural processes to unfold without interference. And as with every episode, a reminder that this journey is designed to guide you into deep rest.So you should never listen while driving or operating machinery. And it's important that you're somewhere safe to fall asleep. And I want to thank everyone who follows this podcast.Your ticket to Snoozeville is kind of like my garden. Watching it grow makes all the time spent finding the right words worth it. And if you're not currently following, why not? We cover so many different ways to fall asleep.At least one will be perfect for you. Now as you listen, I invite you to breathe like a Inhale, counting slowly to four. Feeling the cool air fill your lungs.Hold that breath for just a moment. Exhale, counting to six. Releasing everything.Again. Inhale for four. And hold.And exhale for six. Now close your eyes. If they're not already closed.With each breath, imagine roots extending from your body down into the earth below you. Anchoring you. Connecting you to something ancient and wise.Feel the weight of your body becoming heavier. Sinking deeper into your bed. Like a stone settling slowly into the rich earth.And one more deep breath in. And out. Let your shoulders sink a little deeper.And loosen those muscles around your mouth and eyes. Feel the tension leaving your arms and fingers. Your legs.Your feet. Your whole body softening. Tonight we are not going to force sleep.Instead, I'm just going to take you somewhere peaceful. Where sleep can find you naturally. I'd like to introduce you to Thomas, a night gardener. As we follow his evening rounds through a moonlit estate garden, allow his unhurried pace to become your own. Your body knows how to sleep. It's been doing it your entire life.Tonight we're just reminding it of what it already knows. The natural rhythm of wakefulness and sleep that lives in all growing things. The gravel crunched softly beneath Thomas's boots as he made his way along the winding path.The estate grounds were silent save for the occasional rustle of leaves and distant call of an owl. Thomas had been the head gardener at Thornfield Hall for over 30 years. But it was these evening hours that he treasured most. When the grand gardens belonged to him alone, the moon hung full and luminous overhead. Casting everything in a gentle silver light that transformed the familiar landscape into something almost magical. Thomas carried an old brass lantern, its light swaying gently with each step, creating dancing patterns that complemented the cool glow of the moon.He paused inside the rose garden, his favorite section of the estate grounds. During the day, visitors flocked here to admire the carefully cultivated blooms. But now, in the hushed quiet of the night, the roses had a different sort of beauty.Their colors were muted by moonlight, but their scent seemed stronger somehow. Sweeter and more complex in the cool night air. Thomas set his lantern on a stone bench and removed his worn leather gloves from his pocket.His movements were unhurried, deliberate, the motions of someone who has performed these same actions countless times before. There was no need to rush when working with growing things. Plants operated on their own time scale, far more ancient and patient than the hurried pace of human life.He knelt beside a climbing rose that had come loose from its trellis. With gentle hands, he guided the wayward stems back to their support. Securing them with soft garden twine he kept in his pocket. There you are, he murmured to the plant, his voice barely above a whisper. You'll grow stronger with proper support. Speaking to the plants was a habit he developed over decades of tending gardens.Thomas believed that plants responded to the human voice, to the vibrations of kind words and patient attention. Whether scientifically true or not, it brought him comfort to share quiet observations with these silent companions. As he worked, the tensions of the day seemed to melt away.Here, under the vast canopy of stars, his daily concerns felt as insignificant as specks of dust. From the rose garden, Thomas made his way to the herb garden. A neat arrangement of raised beds filled with plants, both decorative and useful.The air here was different, sharper, more complex with the mingled scents of rosemary, thyme, lavender and mint. He ran his fingers lightly over a lavender bush, releasing its soothing fragrance into the night air. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves around him and he paused to listen to their whispered conversation.Working with living things had taught Thomas the value of listening, not just with his ears but with all his senses. The plants communicated in subtle ways, each a message to those attuned enough to notice. Picking up his lantern once more, Thomas followed the path that led to the ornamental pond.By day, the water reflected the blue of the sky, but now it mirrored the moon and stars, a perfect celestial reflection captured in still water. Water lilies floated on the surface like pale ghosts. Their blossoms closed for the night.He dipped his fingers into the cool water, creating ripples that sent the reflected moonlight dancing. For a moment, he simply watched the water return to stillness, finding peace in the way chaos always eventually resolved into order. The night garden was an entirely different realm from its daytime counterpart.Colors receded, leaving textures and shapes to take prominence. Scents grew stronger and more complex. Sounds became more distinct.It was a place of subtlety, rewarding those patient enough to notice its quiet wonders. Thomas rose and continued his rounds, moving toward the woodland garden at the estate's edge. This area was less manicured than the formal gardens, designed as a transition between cultivated grounds and the wild forest beyond.Here, native ferns unfurled beneath the dappled moonlight that filtered through the canopy. He paused to clear fallen twigs from the path, tucking them neatly among the ferns, where they would decompose and nourish the soil. Thomas took as much care with these mundane aspects of gardening as he did with specialized tasks.Each action was a part of the greater whole, a thread in the intricate tapestry of tending. As he worked his way back toward the center of the garden, Thomas stopped to inspect a young maple tree he'd planted the previous autumn. It had survived its first winter and was now establishing itself nicely.He touched the smooth bark gently, feeling a surge of quiet pride. Many of the estate's most impressive trees had been planted by his predecessors, gardeners whose names were now forgotten, but whose legacy lived on in the soaring oaks and stately elms. I wonder who will sit beneath your branches a hundred years from now, he murmured to the maple.There was something profoundly comforting in being part of this continuity, in being part of something that extended far beyond one's own brief span of years. Thomas had never married, had no children of his own, but in a way, every plant he'd ever nurtured was his offspring. They would outlive him and continue to grow and change.Long after he was gone, the thought brought not melancholy but a deep sense of peace. In tending these gardens, he was part of something timeless. As he worked near the kitchen gardens, he noticed movement at the edge of his vision and turned to see a hedgehog waddling between the rows of planted vegetables.Thomas smiled, remaining perfectly still so as not to frighten the creature. The gardeners who had trained him had taught him to welcome these nocturnal visitors. The hedgehog who ate slugs, and the owls that controlled mice, and the bats that caught insects at dusk.Each had their role in the balanced ecosystem of a well-tended garden. The walled garden was the next destination, a sheltered microclimate where the estate grew more delicate plants. The brick walls, warmed by the day's sun, radiated gentle heat.Even now, hours after sunset, inside, fruit trees lined the southern wall. Their branches trained into elegant horizontal patterns against the brick. He inspected the newly formed fruit on a pear tree.Tiny green nubs that would, with time and attention, grow into sweet juicy pears for the estate table. Each represented potential promise. Patience, he whispered, more to himself than to the tree.It was the greatest lesson gardening had taught him over the years. Nothing could be rushed. Growth happened in its own time.All a gardener could do was create the optimal conditions and then wait, observing with attentive eyes, adjusting with gentle hands. As he exited the walled garden, Thomas noticed how the quality of moonlight had changed. The moon had shifted position, casting different shadows, illuminating new aspects of the landscape.What had been in darkness was now revealed. What had been highlighted had receded into shadow. It was a reminder of how perspective constantly shifted.How the same reality could appear entirely different when viewed from another angle or in another light. Thomas consulted his pocket watch. It was nearly midnight.He had one final area to visit before concluding his evening rounds. The meditation garden was the smallest space under his care, but perhaps the most carefully designed. Created as a place of contemplation, it featured a single meandering path that wound through carefully placed rocks, miniature conifers, and a small dry stream bed of pale gravel.It was a place that invited slowing down, that rewarded close attention. Thomas set his lantern on a flat boulder and lowered himself onto the simple wooden bench at the garden center. This was his nightly ritual, to end his rounds with a few moments of complete stillness.He closed his eyes, feeling the cool night air on his face, listening to the subtle symphony of nocturnal sounds around him. The distant hooting of an owl, and the rustle of leaves. He breathed deeply, drawing in the mingled scents of the garden, earth and growing things.The lingering floral notes from the day's blooms, and the sharper hints of pine and cedar. Each breath seemed to connect him more deeply to this place he attended for so long. This living, growing world that he helped to shape, but never truly controlled.Opening his eyes, Thomas gazed up at the star filled sky. So many of his most profound moments had happened under the same canopy of stars. Moments of insight.Moments of peace. Moments of quiet wonder. Rising from the bench, Thomas collected his lantern and began the walk back toward his cottage at the edge of the estate.His body felt pleasantly tired. His mind clear and calm. Tomorrow would bring new tasks and challenges.But for now, he carried with him the peace of the night garden. The quiet assurance that all was as it should be. As he walked, his footsteps fell into a gentle rhythm on the garden path.The lantern light swayed with his movement, casting warm circles on the ground before him. Above, the moon continued its arc across the sky, keeping its own ancient schedule, indifferent to human concerns or calendar pages. Thomas thought, as he often did during his nighttime journeys, about the essential nature of gardens.How they existed at the intersection of wildness and order. A good gardener worked with these forces, never against them. This philosophy had served Thomas well, not just in gardening, but in life itself. Accept what cannot be changed. Work patiently with what can be influenced. Find beauty in imperfection and trust in the slow, steady processes of growth and renewal.By the time he reached his cottage door, the moon had risen high overhead, bathing the landscape in perfect silver light. Thomas paused for a moment before entering, turning to look back at the gardens. From this distance, individual plants were no longer discernible.Only the flowing shapes of beds and lawns. The silhouettes of trees against the star-filled sky. With one last glance at the moonlit landscape, he opened his cottage door and stepped inside.Knowing that the gardens would continue their quiet growing, even as he slept, following the ancient patient rhythms that had long preceded him, and would continue long after he was gone. As we leave Thomas to return to his cottage, take a moment to notice how your own body feels right now. Maybe you're aware of a pleasant heaviness, a gentle weight that seems to press you deeper into your mattress.This is your body responding to rest, your muscles letting go of the day's tension. Notice your breathing. It's very likely slower now, deeper and more rhythmic.Each inhale brings calm. Each exhale releases everything you no longer need to carry. There's no need to change your breathing. Simply observing it is enough. Feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or belly, and the cool air entering your nostrils. The warm air leaving.This natural rhythm has been with you since your first moments in the world. Your heart rate has likely slowed too. If you pay attention, you might feel the gentle steady pulse in your neck, your wrist, or simply as a quiet thrumming beneath your awareness.This faithful rhythm will carry you from drowsy semi-wakefulness to deep restorative sleep. Feel the support beneath you, the bed that holds you, the pillow cradling your head, and the gentle weight and warmth of your blankets. These simple comforts are gifts.If thoughts about sleep are still drifting through your mind, wondering if it will come and how deeply you'll sleep, see if you can gently let them go, like leaves floating on a stream. Watch them drift away. Getting caught in thoughts about sleep only moves sleep further from your reach. Instead, savor this moment of simply being at rest. Rest itself is valuable, even if sleep hasn't yet arrived. Your body is receiving benefits simply from lying still, breathing deeply, and releasing tension.Every cell is regenerating. Every system finding balance is a profound pleasure in a body at rest. A state we often rush past in our busy lives.Notice the comfort of not doing. The quiet joy of simply existing. Take another deep, nourishing breath.Feel your lungs expand fully, then empty completely, and let your body become even heavier, even more relaxed with each exhale. Know that when morning comes, you can carry this gardener's wisdom with you. This patient acceptance of natural timing.The appreciation for slow, deliberate movement. There is only this moment, this peaceful, quiet space between wakefulness and dreams. Your only task is to rest here as night deepens around you.I'm Suzanne. This is your ticket to Snoozeville. Sleep now.Sleep deeply. Sleep well.