Katherine Nicolai

Not red-handed, but sort of green-thumbed, I thought.

We stared at each other for a beat, then both broke out in laughter.

I apologized for thieving their lilacs, which she waved away.

saying she was glad someone was getting some enjoyment from them.

I spent one long summer painting everything inside and out, finding paint in my hair and on every piece of clothing I owned till I'd finally finished.

to chat with those who had come to gather some beauty from a place that had once been a secret.

Listen, I return my grocery cart to the corral.

I don't open other people's mail.

But there is one area of my life where I have been known to be downright criminal.

Red-faced, I owned up to my thievery and apologized.

But she insisted.

I'd been clipping for a while, and still had a ways to go.

even adding signs along the front drive, inviting others to stop and pick some for themselves.

to smell the lilacs.

We'd collected scads of donated vases from friends and family, and we'd make bouquets of the different colored blooms to entice market-goers.

and thought of how far I'd come from those days.

I'm Katherine Nicolai, and I help millions of people around the world sleep better, rest their nervous systems, and shut their brains off when they won't stop spinning.

On my podcast, Nothing Much Happens, I tell cozy, calming stories where nothing dramatic ever happens.

Just soft narration, sensory detail, and gentle repetition designed to lull you to sleep.

There's no plot to follow, nothing to figure out, just peace.