A garden in the rain, if you are new to this

The story, in full

The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.

The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Your chest can be still now.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step.

Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Slower now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Just the breath. Slower. Let the room get slightly further away.

Nothing here assumes you have done this before.

Let everything get quiet, including this.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for rain, green.