A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when your attention is scattered — for an overtired night

The story, in full

Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. 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 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. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your hands be completely still.

The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Your chest can be still now.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Your ankles can go loose now.

If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Almost nothing to do now.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing here needs following closely. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.

Just the weight. Let the next part go past without you. Leave it there.

Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.

No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.

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