A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for winding down

The story, in full

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.

The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Your chest can be still now.

A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor.

Let your hands be completely still. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let your breathing do the rest.

Nothing here needs following closely. Almost nothing to do now. They will find their own way out.

Let the quiet be boring. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Sleep.

A few minutes is the whole requirement.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.