A short sleep story for adults

This is The Settle. A short walk on the beach, for a night when your mind won't stop. Three things to see. Three to hear. Three to feel. Eyes open or closed, it doesn't matter. Just walk with me.

It's the hour before sunset, on a small stretch of Spanish coast. You come down the old stone steps from the village, and onto the sand. It's soft at first, and dry, then firmer, where the tide has been. You walk along the water's edge. There's no one else here.

Three things to see.

The first is the sun. It's low now, off to your left, over the sea. It lays a road of gold across the water, all the way to the shore. The road moves a little with every wave, but it never breaks.

The second is the village behind you. The white walls have gone the colour of warm bread. One window catches the sun and holds it, like a small lamp.

The third is the lighthouse, at the far end of the beach. White, and tall, and quiet. Its light isn't on yet. It's waiting for the dark, the way it does every evening.

You stop walking. Three things to hear.

The first is the sea. A wave comes in, slowly, and spreads itself thin across the sand. There's a pause. Then it draws back over the small stones, and they roll together with a sound like rain on a roof. Then the next one comes.

The second is a gull. Far off, over the water, it calls once, and then again, further away. Then it's gone, and the sky is quiet.

The third is the grass on the dunes behind you. A little wind comes in off the sea, and the long dry grass moves in it. A soft hush, rising, and falling, and rising.

You walk on. Three things to feel.

The first is the sand under your feet. Cool here, and damp, and firm. Each step presses in a little, and the sand keeps the shape of it for a moment, before the water smooths it away.

The second is the sea. The edge of one wave runs further than the others, over your feet. It's cooler than you expect. It stays a moment. Then it slides back, and leaves the sand shining.

The third is the warm sand, higher up the beach. You sit down where it's dry, and the day's warmth is still in it. It takes your weight. There's nothing left to carry.

The sun is down now. The gold has gone from the water. At the far end of the beach, the lighthouse comes on by itself. Its light turns slowly out over the sea, and comes round again, every twelve seconds. Down by the water, a small cottage has a lamp in its window.

The sea keeps going. In, and out. You don't have to. The light is keeping the watch tonight, so you can let the day settle.