October 23, 2025 • 20 mins
In this gentle autumn story, Along the Road of Maples, we find quiet beauty along a familiar drive home. What begins as a farewell to a dear friend becomes a meditation on the passage of time, the comfort of companionship, and the vibrant magic of October.
Through softly spoken narration and immersive storytelling, this episode of The Slow Life Podcast invites you to slow down and travel a winding road lined with red and gold leaves — a moment of stillness to accompany your morning coffee, evening tea, or bedtime routine.
This calming story is designed to help you relax, unwind, or drift into restful sleep. Ideal for fall listening, bedtime or morning routines, or whenever you need a quiet moment of comfort.
If you enjoy cozy, relaxing stories, remember to follow the podcast so you don't miss any stories that are posted every Thursday.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Stories written and read by Jennifer Veinot
🌐 Website: TheSlowLife.ca
📸 Instagram: @theslowlifecozystories
📌 Pinterest: theslowlifecozystories
💌 Support the show by donating HERE
All content copyrighted Jennifer Veinot (Zwicker) 2024, 2025
#TheSlowLifePodcast #CozyStorytelling #AutumnVibes #FallFestival #SlowLiving #BedtimeStory #RelaxingPodcast #FallAmbience #CozyListening #SleepStory
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:02):
Welcome to The Slow Life. I'm Jennifer Vino and I create,
narrate, and design the soundscape of this village of
cozy stories to relax and unwind.
Each week I share an original story.
Read 2 times so you can relax even more during the second
(00:25):
reading. I'm happy to announce my
website, theslowlife.ca. It provides a space where we can
connect and I can bring you all things cozy.
Let's settle in with some easy breathing at your own pace.
(00:48):
With each inhale, let fresh air fill the space around your
heart. With each exhale, feel the calm
air spread through your body andflow out through your arms and
legs, gently in through your heart.
(01:10):
Gently out through your body, inthrough your heart, out through
your body. And now let's begin.
This story is called Along the Road of Maples and it's about
(01:36):
one more cup with a friend, an autumn playlist and a gallery
showing for one. I've come to the other side of
the mountains to visit a friend for a few days.
On this last morning, the sun sneaks between the cracks and
(01:59):
the blinds, painting stripes onto the oversized blanket.
I'm not in a hurry to get going,but I put my bag on the bed and
start folding what little I brought with me.
A shirt still creased from the drive here, a sweater that
(02:21):
smells faintly of wood smoke, and the sweet orange and clove
scent she'd been simmering on the stove.
I move slowly until I hear the kettle click off in the kitchen,
signaling that it's time for onemore coffee together before I
(02:42):
head back home. Looking out the window as my
friend prepares our drinks, I realize that when I arrived two
nights ago, the leaves still seemed mostly green, brushed
here and there with yellow and red.
(03:03):
Now the shift is clearer. The Reds have deepened, the
edges starting to curl. I love to see the change
happening, an unfurling of the season that's both dependable
and sudden. We finish our visit satisfied
(03:24):
that we've caught up with each other for now.
Outside, the air is cool enough for a jacket, but I tuck mine
into the passenger seat. Her golden retriever is waiting
by the back steps, tail sweepingthe pine needles aside, the old
(03:46):
tennis ball already in her mouth.
She drops it at my feet, always ready for more.
I toss it once, twice, a third time, farther into the trees.
When she comes back, her fur is damp and her breath fogs in
(04:07):
small bursts. She hangs on to it now, seeming
aware that it's time for me to go.
Mom will have to take over the throwing part.
She followed me from room to room the whole time I stayed.
She would stretch out by the bed, then some time in the
(04:31):
night, climb up and curl herselfinto the crook of my knees
before going back to her mum's room.
It was comforting, the weight and size of her there in the
dark, the steady rhythm of her breathing in the quiet of
someone else's home. The three of us exchanged hugs
(04:57):
and kisses, and my friend loads my bag into the car.
The dog stands at the edge of the driveway, watching with the
ball still in her mouth. I wave in gratitude until I turn
on to the narrow Rd. that leads away from the house.
(05:19):
The tires crunch on the gravel lane before rolling on to the
smooth pavement. I think about how quickly things
transform in October. The temperature, the colours,
even the way the light settles. The drive home is 3 hours if I
(05:42):
don't stop, but I almost always do.
The roads wind through small towns and then narrow into long
stretches where the forest leansin closer on both sides.
The highway climbs gently into the hills where the air thins
(06:04):
and the colours of the foliage are further along in the higher
elevation. For the first while, I keep my
windows down. The cool air slips around me,
carrying a sweet dampness that would have been frost at first
light this morning. The stereo hums old tunes from
(06:29):
my autumn playlist. About an hour in, I reached the
Road of Maples, a long corridor of colour that feels like
entering a fantasy land. They rise close to the road,
their branches arching overhead so the light filters through the
(06:53):
beautiful colours. It's like driving through a
tunnel of stained glass windows.The pavement darkens with
shadow, and I slowed down on purpose.
Every turn reveals something new.
A slope of burnt orange, a sudden valley of yellow leaves
(07:16):
fluttering in the wind. Here and there, a single tree
already bare before its neighbors.
I've called it the Road of Maples for years, ever since I
first discovered this stretch while driving to my friend's
place. Every year I look forward to
(07:39):
this magical passageway where the season arrives in full
colour. The leaves scatter under my
tires as I drive, brushing up insmall waves behind the car.
I watched them lift and swirl, caught briefly in the air before
(08:01):
settling again along the edges of the pavement.
I keep the speed slow, letting the road and the surrounding
colours unfold as I round every curve.
It's rare to come across anothervehicle through this path as
(08:23):
though I've bought a ticket to aprivate showing at a gallery.
I do hope others will have theirturn to enjoy it after I've come
through. The branches begin to pull back,
to reveal glimpses of the hills beyond, gently touched by
(08:43):
October light. I travel on, lost in the
colours, the shadows, the quiet sweep of leaves lifting in my
wake. When the maples finally thin, I
pass other familiar landmarks, the weathered burns, the lakes
(09:05):
large and small that appears suddenly on either side, some
holding scattered leaves on their surface.
A cluster of houses appears after these, smoke curling from
a chimney that hadn't been doingso when I drove by only two days
(09:28):
prior. Maybe I'll light the wood stove
in my living room tonight. I stopped at the lookout just
before the last bend into the valley.
From here, the village sits tucked in rooftops, just visible
(09:48):
between the trees. The air moves gently across the
Ridge, carrying the dry flutter of leaves.
I lean against the hood, warm from the drive, and watch as a
few birds scatter from the treesand disappear down the slope on
(10:11):
the road again. The descent towards the village
begins and I notice how quickly the shift has happened.
Only two nights away and everything seems deeper in
colour. More chimneys show that cozy
fires have been lit within. I think of my friend's dog,
(10:37):
probably asleep now, by her own fireplace, her fur even redder
than before. I look forward to seeing her
next time. There's comfort in knowing some
things always return. As sure as autumn finding its
way back to the village along the road of Maples, I've come to
(11:10):
the other side of the mountains to visit a friend for a few
days. On this last morning, the sun
sneaks between the cracks and the blinds, painting stripes
onto the oversized blanket. I'm not in a hurry to get going,
(11:31):
but I put my bag on the bed and stirred, folding what little I
brought with me. A shirt still creased from the
drive here, a sweater that smells faintly of wood smoke,
and the sweet orange and clove scent she'd been simmering on
the stove. I move slowly until I hear the
(11:56):
kettle click off in the kitchen,signaling that it's time for one
more coffee together before I head back home.
Looking out the window as my friend prepares our drinks, I
realize that when I arrived two nights ago, the leaves still
(12:17):
seemed mostly green, brushed here and there with yellow and
red. Now the shift is clearer.
The Reds have deepened, the edges starting to curl.
I love to see the change happening, an unfurling of the
(12:38):
season that's both dependable and sudden.
We finish our visit satisfied that we've caught up with each
other for now. Outside, the air is cool enough
for a jacket, but I tuck mine into the passenger seat.
(12:59):
Her golden retriever is waiting by the back steps, tails
sweeping the pine needles aside,the old tennis ball already in
her mouth. She drops it at my feet, always
ready for more. I toss it once, twice, a third
(13:20):
time, farther into the trees. When she comes back, her fur is
damp and her breath fogs in small bursts.
She hangs on to it now, seeming aware that it's time for me to
go. Mom will have to take over the
(13:41):
throwing part. She followed me from room to
room the whole time I stayed. She would stretch out by the
bed, then some time in the night, climb up and curl herself
into the crook of my knees before going back to her mum's
(14:02):
room. It was comforting, the weight
and size of her there in the dark, the steady rhythm of her
breathing in the quiet of someone else's home.
The three of us exchange hugs and kisses, and my friend loads
my bag into the car. The dog stands at the edge of
(14:26):
the driveway, watching with the ball still in her mouth.
I wave in gratitude until I turnon to the narrow Rd. that leads
away from the house. The tires crunch on the gravel
lane before rolling on to the smooth pavement.
(14:49):
I think about how quickly thingstransform in October.
The temperature, the colours, even the way the light settles.
The drive home is 3 hours if I don't stop, but I almost always
do. The roads wind through small
(15:10):
towns and then narrow into long stretches where the forest leans
in closer on both sides. The highway climbs gently into
the hills where the air thins and the colours of the foliage
are further along in the higher elevation.
(15:33):
For the first while, I keep my windows down.
The cool air slips around me, carrying a sweet dampness that
would have been frost at first light this morning.
The stereo hums old tunes from my autumn playlist.
(15:54):
About an hour in, I reached the Road of Maples, a long corridor
of colour that feels like entering a fantasy land.
They rise close to the road, their branches arching overhead
so the light filters through thebeautiful colours.
(16:18):
It's like driving through a tunnel of stained glass windows.
The pavement darkens with shadow, and I slowed down on
purpose. Every turn reveals something
new. A slope of burnt orange, a
sudden valley of yellow leaves fluttering in the wind.
(16:41):
Here and there, a single tree already bare before its
neighbors. I've called it the Road of
Maples for years, ever since I first discovered this stretch
while driving to my friend's place.
Every year I look forward to this magical passageway where
(17:04):
the season arrives in full colour.
The leaves scatter under my tires as I drive, brushing up in
small waves behind the car. I watched them lift and swirl,
caught briefly in the air beforesettling again along the edges
(17:26):
of the pavement. I keep the speed slow, letting
the road and the surrounding colours unfold as I round every
curve. It's rare to come across another
vehicle through this pass as though I've bought a ticket to a
(17:47):
private showing at a gallery. I do hope others will have their
turn to enjoy it after I've comethrough.
The branches begin to pull back,to reveal glimpses of the hills
beyond, gently touched by October light.
(18:08):
I travel on, lost in the colours, the shadows, the quiet
sweep of leaves lifting in my wake.
When the maples finally thin, I pass other familiar landmarks.
The weathered barns, the lakes large and small that appear
(18:30):
suddenly on either side, some holding scattered leaves on
their surface. A cluster of houses appears
after these, smoke curling from a chimney that hadn't been doing
so when I drove by only two daysprior.
(18:52):
Maybe I'll light the wood stove in my living room tonight.
I stop at the lookout just before the last bend into the
valley. From here, the village sits
tucked in rooftops, just visiblebetween the trees.
(19:13):
The air moves gently across the Ridge, carrying the dry flutter
of leaves. I lean against the hood, warm
from the drive, and watch as a few birds scatter from the trees
and disappear down the slope on the road again.
(19:34):
The descent towards the village begins and I notice how quickly
the shift has happened. Only two nights away and
everything seems deeper in colour.
More chimneys show that cozy fires have been lit within.
(19:56):
I think of my friend's dog, probably asleep now by her own
fireplace, her fur even redder than before.
I look forward to seeing her next time.
There's comfort in knowing some things always return, as sure as
(20:17):
autumn finding its way back to the village.
I wish you sweet dreams.
Welcome to The Slow Life. I'm Jennifer Vino and I create,
narrate, and design the soundscape of this village of
cozy stories to relax and unwind.
Each week I share an original story.
Read 2 times so you can relax even more during the second
(00:25):
reading. I'm happy to announce my
website, theslowlife.ca. It provides a space where we can
connect and I can bring you all things cozy.
Let's settle in with some easy breathing at your own pace.
(00:48):
With each inhale, let fresh air fill the space around your
heart. With each exhale, feel the calm
air spread through your body andflow out through your arms and
legs, gently in through your heart.
(01:10):
Gently out through your body, inthrough your heart, out through
your body. And now let's begin.
This story is called Along the Road of Maples and it's about
(01:36):
one more cup with a friend, an autumn playlist and a gallery
showing for one. I've come to the other side of
the mountains to visit a friend for a few days.
On this last morning, the sun sneaks between the cracks and
(01:59):
the blinds, painting stripes onto the oversized blanket.
I'm not in a hurry to get going,but I put my bag on the bed and
start folding what little I brought with me.
A shirt still creased from the drive here, a sweater that
(02:21):
smells faintly of wood smoke, and the sweet orange and clove
scent she'd been simmering on the stove.
I move slowly until I hear the kettle click off in the kitchen,
signaling that it's time for onemore coffee together before I
(02:42):
head back home. Looking out the window as my
friend prepares our drinks, I realize that when I arrived two
nights ago, the leaves still seemed mostly green, brushed
here and there with yellow and red.
(03:03):
Now the shift is clearer. The Reds have deepened, the
edges starting to curl. I love to see the change
happening, an unfurling of the season that's both dependable
and sudden. We finish our visit satisfied
(03:24):
that we've caught up with each other for now.
Outside, the air is cool enough for a jacket, but I tuck mine
into the passenger seat. Her golden retriever is waiting
by the back steps, tail sweepingthe pine needles aside, the old
(03:46):
tennis ball already in her mouth.
She drops it at my feet, always ready for more.
I toss it once, twice, a third time, farther into the trees.
When she comes back, her fur is damp and her breath fogs in
(04:07):
small bursts. She hangs on to it now, seeming
aware that it's time for me to go.
Mom will have to take over the throwing part.
She followed me from room to room the whole time I stayed.
She would stretch out by the bed, then some time in the
(04:31):
night, climb up and curl herselfinto the crook of my knees
before going back to her mum's room.
It was comforting, the weight and size of her there in the
dark, the steady rhythm of her breathing in the quiet of
someone else's home. The three of us exchanged hugs
(04:57):
and kisses, and my friend loads my bag into the car.
The dog stands at the edge of the driveway, watching with the
ball still in her mouth. I wave in gratitude until I turn
on to the narrow Rd. that leads away from the house.
(05:19):
The tires crunch on the gravel lane before rolling on to the
smooth pavement. I think about how quickly things
transform in October. The temperature, the colours,
even the way the light settles. The drive home is 3 hours if I
(05:42):
don't stop, but I almost always do.
The roads wind through small towns and then narrow into long
stretches where the forest leansin closer on both sides.
The highway climbs gently into the hills where the air thins
(06:04):
and the colours of the foliage are further along in the higher
elevation. For the first while, I keep my
windows down. The cool air slips around me,
carrying a sweet dampness that would have been frost at first
light this morning. The stereo hums old tunes from
(06:29):
my autumn playlist. About an hour in, I reached the
Road of Maples, a long corridor of colour that feels like
entering a fantasy land. They rise close to the road,
their branches arching overhead so the light filters through the
(06:53):
beautiful colours. It's like driving through a
tunnel of stained glass windows.The pavement darkens with
shadow, and I slowed down on purpose.
Every turn reveals something new.
A slope of burnt orange, a sudden valley of yellow leaves
(07:16):
fluttering in the wind. Here and there, a single tree
already bare before its neighbors.
I've called it the Road of Maples for years, ever since I
first discovered this stretch while driving to my friend's
place. Every year I look forward to
(07:39):
this magical passageway where the season arrives in full
colour. The leaves scatter under my
tires as I drive, brushing up insmall waves behind the car.
I watched them lift and swirl, caught briefly in the air before
(08:01):
settling again along the edges of the pavement.
I keep the speed slow, letting the road and the surrounding
colours unfold as I round every curve.
It's rare to come across anothervehicle through this path as
(08:23):
though I've bought a ticket to aprivate showing at a gallery.
I do hope others will have theirturn to enjoy it after I've come
through. The branches begin to pull back,
to reveal glimpses of the hills beyond, gently touched by
(08:43):
October light. I travel on, lost in the
colours, the shadows, the quiet sweep of leaves lifting in my
wake. When the maples finally thin, I
pass other familiar landmarks, the weathered burns, the lakes
(09:05):
large and small that appears suddenly on either side, some
holding scattered leaves on their surface.
A cluster of houses appears after these, smoke curling from
a chimney that hadn't been doingso when I drove by only two days
(09:28):
prior. Maybe I'll light the wood stove
in my living room tonight. I stopped at the lookout just
before the last bend into the valley.
From here, the village sits tucked in rooftops, just visible
(09:48):
between the trees. The air moves gently across the
Ridge, carrying the dry flutter of leaves.
I lean against the hood, warm from the drive, and watch as a
few birds scatter from the treesand disappear down the slope on
(10:11):
the road again. The descent towards the village
begins and I notice how quickly the shift has happened.
Only two nights away and everything seems deeper in
colour. More chimneys show that cozy
fires have been lit within. I think of my friend's dog,
(10:37):
probably asleep now, by her own fireplace, her fur even redder
than before. I look forward to seeing her
next time. There's comfort in knowing some
things always return. As sure as autumn finding its
way back to the village along the road of Maples, I've come to
(11:10):
the other side of the mountains to visit a friend for a few
days. On this last morning, the sun
sneaks between the cracks and the blinds, painting stripes
onto the oversized blanket. I'm not in a hurry to get going,
(11:31):
but I put my bag on the bed and stirred, folding what little I
brought with me. A shirt still creased from the
drive here, a sweater that smells faintly of wood smoke,
and the sweet orange and clove scent she'd been simmering on
the stove. I move slowly until I hear the
(11:56):
kettle click off in the kitchen,signaling that it's time for one
more coffee together before I head back home.
Looking out the window as my friend prepares our drinks, I
realize that when I arrived two nights ago, the leaves still
(12:17):
seemed mostly green, brushed here and there with yellow and
red. Now the shift is clearer.
The Reds have deepened, the edges starting to curl.
I love to see the change happening, an unfurling of the
(12:38):
season that's both dependable and sudden.
We finish our visit satisfied that we've caught up with each
other for now. Outside, the air is cool enough
for a jacket, but I tuck mine into the passenger seat.
(12:59):
Her golden retriever is waiting by the back steps, tails
sweeping the pine needles aside,the old tennis ball already in
her mouth. She drops it at my feet, always
ready for more. I toss it once, twice, a third
(13:20):
time, farther into the trees. When she comes back, her fur is
damp and her breath fogs in small bursts.
She hangs on to it now, seeming aware that it's time for me to
go. Mom will have to take over the
(13:41):
throwing part. She followed me from room to
room the whole time I stayed. She would stretch out by the
bed, then some time in the night, climb up and curl herself
into the crook of my knees before going back to her mum's
(14:02):
room. It was comforting, the weight
and size of her there in the dark, the steady rhythm of her
breathing in the quiet of someone else's home.
The three of us exchange hugs and kisses, and my friend loads
my bag into the car. The dog stands at the edge of
(14:26):
the driveway, watching with the ball still in her mouth.
I wave in gratitude until I turnon to the narrow Rd. that leads
away from the house. The tires crunch on the gravel
lane before rolling on to the smooth pavement.
(14:49):
I think about how quickly thingstransform in October.
The temperature, the colours, even the way the light settles.
The drive home is 3 hours if I don't stop, but I almost always
do. The roads wind through small
(15:10):
towns and then narrow into long stretches where the forest leans
in closer on both sides. The highway climbs gently into
the hills where the air thins and the colours of the foliage
are further along in the higher elevation.
(15:33):
For the first while, I keep my windows down.
The cool air slips around me, carrying a sweet dampness that
would have been frost at first light this morning.
The stereo hums old tunes from my autumn playlist.
(15:54):
About an hour in, I reached the Road of Maples, a long corridor
of colour that feels like entering a fantasy land.
They rise close to the road, their branches arching overhead
so the light filters through thebeautiful colours.
(16:18):
It's like driving through a tunnel of stained glass windows.
The pavement darkens with shadow, and I slowed down on
purpose. Every turn reveals something
new. A slope of burnt orange, a
sudden valley of yellow leaves fluttering in the wind.
(16:41):
Here and there, a single tree already bare before its
neighbors. I've called it the Road of
Maples for years, ever since I first discovered this stretch
while driving to my friend's place.
Every year I look forward to this magical passageway where
(17:04):
the season arrives in full colour.
The leaves scatter under my tires as I drive, brushing up in
small waves behind the car. I watched them lift and swirl,
caught briefly in the air beforesettling again along the edges
(17:26):
of the pavement. I keep the speed slow, letting
the road and the surrounding colours unfold as I round every
curve. It's rare to come across another
vehicle through this pass as though I've bought a ticket to a
(17:47):
private showing at a gallery. I do hope others will have their
turn to enjoy it after I've comethrough.
The branches begin to pull back,to reveal glimpses of the hills
beyond, gently touched by October light.
(18:08):
I travel on, lost in the colours, the shadows, the quiet
sweep of leaves lifting in my wake.
When the maples finally thin, I pass other familiar landmarks.
The weathered barns, the lakes large and small that appear
(18:30):
suddenly on either side, some holding scattered leaves on
their surface. A cluster of houses appears
after these, smoke curling from a chimney that hadn't been doing
so when I drove by only two daysprior.
(18:52):
Maybe I'll light the wood stove in my living room tonight.
I stop at the lookout just before the last bend into the
valley. From here, the village sits
tucked in rooftops, just visiblebetween the trees.
(19:13):
The air moves gently across the Ridge, carrying the dry flutter
of leaves. I lean against the hood, warm
from the drive, and watch as a few birds scatter from the trees
and disappear down the slope on the road again.
(19:34):
The descent towards the village begins and I notice how quickly
the shift has happened. Only two nights away and
everything seems deeper in colour.
More chimneys show that cozy fires have been lit within.
(19:56):
I think of my friend's dog, probably asleep now by her own
fireplace, her fur even redder than before.
I look forward to seeing her next time.
There's comfort in knowing some things always return, as sure as
(20:17):
autumn finding its way back to the village.
I wish you sweet dreams.
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