8-hours. The Little House At Night

The night is deep,

Not the start of night,

But the kind of night when the day is about to rest.

There is a quiet walkway,

It is not long.

No hurry as you walk,

Your steps slow down on their own.

Along the walkway,

Sometimes there are trees,

Sometimes only shadows.

You don't need to see clearly,

Just walk.

After a while,

Your breath finds a rhythm,

Not deep,

Not shadow,

Just right for the night.

At the end of the walkway,

There is a small house,

Warm,

Low light inside.

The door is not closed,

You walk in.

Inside the house,

Soft music is playing,

Slow and delicate.

The room is simple,

A bed,

A light,

And a quiet music.

When you lie down,

Your body knows how to relax.

The music fills the space,

Slowly moves to the background.

No need to follow it,

No need to listen closely.

Outside the window,

The night grows deeper,

Nothing no longer matters,

If a thought appears,

Let it be.

Like the space between sounds,

It comes and it goes.

No need to do anything now,

No need to remember the story.

If you are asleep,

The music will stay with you through the night.

If you are still awake,

Let your mind gently follow the simple music.

No need to rush,

No need to stay,

Just let the music be there,

Let the night take care of what follows,

And let the music take care of you.