A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have already had a long week — for waking too early

The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.

There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.

Let your hands be completely still. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.

If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

Let the room get slightly further away. Let them.

Just the breath. Let the quiet be boring. Leave it there.

Slower now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.

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