Sleep story: a caravan by the sea

The story, in full

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

A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

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

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your palms open if they were closed.

Feel your wrists loosen. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

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.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

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.

Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

Just the breath. Slower.

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Let the next part go past without you. Sleep. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.

After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.

The end. Sleep well.

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