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The afternoon light is softening when you pass through the ancient wooden door, its surface dark with centuries of hands pushing it open, its iron hinges worn smooth by the passage of countless scholars and students and seekers who have entered this space before you, each one seeking something—knowledge or solitude or simply a quiet place to read, to think, to be.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The afternoon light is beginning its slow transformation when you arrive at the edge of the world, or what feels like the edge of the world, where the land stretches away in waves of golden grass and the sky seems to take up more space than the earth, where the horizon is so distant you can see the curve of the planet, where silence is not the absence of sound but a presence of its own, thick and soft and all-encompassing.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The afternoon light is soft and filtered through the persistent mist that has settled over Seoul when you step off the subway at Bukchon station, emerging from the underground into the hillside neighborhood where traditional hanok houses still cluster together, their curved tile roofs creating waves of gray and charcoal against the modern city that surrounds them. The air is cool and damp, carrying with it the smell of rain-wet stone and pine, of cooking kimchi and the slight metallic scent that cities always have, of millions of people living close together, of density and life and the constant hum of human activity.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The afternoon sun is beginning its slow descent when you turn off the narrow country road onto an even narrower dirt track, the car bumping gently over the rutted surface, forcing you to slow to barely more than walking pace. On either side of the track, lavender stretches away in endless rows, the plants at their absolute peak of bloom, their purple flowers so dense and vibrant they seem almost unreal, as if someone has painted the landscape in shades that shouldn't exist in nature but somehow do.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The afternoon is fading into evening when you first see the spires of Bruges rising above the flat Belgian landscape, their Gothic points reaching toward a sky that is beginning to show the first hints of twilight colors. The train has been carrying you through fields and small villages for the past hour, each one looking like it stepped out of a Bruegel painting, and now it slows as it approaches the station, the rhythm of wheels on tracks changing, becoming more deliberate, more measured, as if the train itself is preparing to enter a place where time moves differently.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The heat of the day is finally beginning to lift when you step out onto the narrow street, the afternoon giving way to evening, the fierce tropical sun descending toward the horizon and taking with it some of its intensity. The air is still warm, humid in the way that makes your skin feel soft and slightly damp, but there is a breeze now, moving through the streets of the Old Quarter, carrying with it the complex scent that is uniquely Hanoi—a mixture of cooking oil and incense, of tropical flowers and engine exhaust, of the Red River that flows through the city and the ancient stones that pave these streets.PS do you have of flying? Download SkyCalm on iOS today: ⁠https://apps.apple.com/us/app/skycalm-fear-of-flying/id6746972686

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The late afternoon light has turned everything to honey when you turn off the main road onto a narrow lane barely wide enough for your car, marked only by a weathered wooden sign that reads "Mas de la Lune" in faded script. The road—more dirt track than actual road—winds between fields that stretch away on both sides, and the car bounces gently over the uneven surface, forcing you to slow down, to take your time, to enter this place at the pace it demands rather than the pace you might prefer.

This is Sleep Stories for Adults. Make sure you follow us so that we can hit our goal of 10,000 followers.

The afternoon light is softening when you step out of the small hotel onto the narrow cobblestone street, the fierce heat of the day giving way to something more gentle, more forgiving. The stones beneath your feet are smooth and uneven, worn by centuries of footsteps, polished by the passage of countless lives that have walked these same paths through the centuries when this city was Constantinople, when it was Byzantium, when it has always been the bridge between continents, between worlds.

PS do you have of flying? Download SkyCalm on iOS today: ⁠https://apps.apple.com/us/app/skycalm-fear-of-flying/id6746972686