A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for winding down

The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again.

Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Almost nothing to do now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the quiet be boring.

Nothing here needs following closely. Slower now. Let the room get slightly further away.

Being on your own is not required, but it does make this simpler.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.