The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are short on time — for jet lag

The story, in full

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.

There is nothing left on the list for today. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let the mattress take all of it.

Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.

If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Stay with the weight of your body. Let it all get further away.

The words can start to blur now. They will find their own way out. Slower now.

Pick this one when you are short on time.

Let everything get quiet, including this.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.