May the evening gather around you slowly,
without asking you to become peaceful all at once.

May the part of you still listening for your name,
still remembering what somebody might need,
find a little company in the quiet.

Let there be a chair that takes your weight,
a blanket drawn close,
and a lamp whose small circle of light
asks nothing of you.

If your thoughts make another round of the house,
checking the doors of tomorrow,
may you greet them without scolding yourself
for having such a faithful watchkeeper.

Perhaps you can tell that part of you:

I know how hard you have been working.
Come sit beside me for a while.

May there be somewhere for your hands to rest
without reaching for the next task,
and a few minutes in which the world
is allowed to continue beyond your tending.

If sleep comes slowly,
may you have gentleness while you wait.
If the quiet feels unfamiliar,
may you enter it a little at a time.

You do not have to make a beautiful ending
out of a day that simply wore you out.
You can leave the last sentence open,
set the book beside the lamp,
and be here.

May something hold you
that does not need holding in return.

With love,
Casey