☕️🌹 Secret Garden - Part 2 of 3 - Relaxing Stories for Adults

Welcome to The Slow Life - A village filled with cozy stories for everyone. This story is called Secret Garden, and it’s about spending the weekend at a bed & breakfast, nature’s reminders, and the way it can be perfectly unruly. This is Part 2 of 3 stories relating to a weekend stay at the Secret Garden Bed & Breakfast.

🇨🇦 These stories are written, edited and narrated by Jennifer Zwicker.

Support this podcast at Patreon, ⁠⁠here⁠⁠ https://patreon.com/theslowlifecalmingstories?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink

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Benefits of listening to cozy stories or adult bedtime stories with The Slow Life:

1. Relaxation and Stress Relief

• You want to unwind after a stressful day.

• The gentle pacing, soothing tone, and comforting narratives help calm your mind and body.

2. Help Falling Asleep

• Many people use bedtime stories as a sleep aid. We’ve been told ours help.

• A calming story distracts from anxious or racing thoughts, making it easier to drift off. Especially with a second reading as we have, because you already know what happens.

3. Comfort and Nostalgia

• You’re looking for the emotional safety and warmth that often comes with familiar or gently imaginative stories.

• Cozy stories can evoke fond childhood memories or a sense of being cared for.

4. Escape and Imagination

• A peaceful story can provide a gentle escape from reality without overstimulation.

• Listeners enjoy being transported to a calm village, a peaceful garden, or a quaint and cozy inn.

5. Mindfulness and Presence

• The slow, descriptive nature of cozy storytelling encourages a mindful focus on the present.

• It can be a form of meditative listening, grounding you, the listener, in sensory details and slow pacing.

6. Companionship and Connection

• Perhaps, for people who live alone or feel lonely, a narrator’s voice can feel like friendly company.

• It’s a quiet, non-demanding form of social presence.

🧡 Bedtime stories for grown ups

🧡 Bedtime stories for kids

🧡 Meditation story

Secret Garden is a cozy bedtime story about having a little staycation in my own town. There is beauty, there is comfort. It may help put you to sleep. Calming stories to help you sleep. Relieve anxiety.

⚠️ Take care listening while driving or doing any activity that requires your full attention.

• All stories - Copyright Jennifer Zwicker 2024, 2025

Episode Transcript

(00:01):
Welcome to The Slow Life, a village filled with cozy stories
for everyone. I'll read this story 2 times to
help you zone out or even fall asleep during the second
reading. This story is called Secret

(00:22):
Garden and it's about spending the weekend at a bed and
breakfast, natures reminders andthe way it can be perfectly
unruly. I'm spending the weekend at The
Secret Garden Bed and Breakfast,a vacation in my own village

(00:45):
that I've started to take every summer around this time.
The air is sweet with the soft perfume of things blooming that
have yet to show themselves to me.
The door clicks shut behind me, and for a moment I pause on the
step, letting the quiet wrap around me.

(01:09):
I'm not even in the main garden yet, and I'm still surrounded by
lush greens of all shades and deep Reds of small Japanese
maples. Moving forward, my shoes tap
lightly on the flagstone path drawn down a short walkway

(01:30):
hemmed in by foxglove and ladiesmantle.
Then I see it. A charming old thing of wrought
iron, softened by vines that weave their way through the
slats and curly cues, their tinywhite blossoms spaced perfectly

(01:50):
amongst the leaves, almost fullycovering the gate.
Clematis spills across the top like lace, and a delicate spray
of honeysuckle drapes from one side.
The hinges Creek a little as I push it open, but it moves
easily as it welcomes guests daily in a steady rhythm.

(02:16):
And then I'm inside. The garden opens before me like
a quilt being expertly placed ona bed, floating down even on all
sides. My eyes sweep across a patchwork
of colour and texture that immediately steals every other

(02:37):
thought from my mind. I feel a thrill, like something
out of the story I read long agoand many times since.
The one with the hidden door andThe Secret Garden that healed
more than just an ailing body. This place feels like that.

(02:59):
Just inside the gate is a fork in the path.
I naturally choose the right winding slowly past tall stands
of delphinium and Spires of lupins, turning to seed the
brighter pinks of Echinacea and the buttery yellow faces of

(03:20):
coreopsis. Taking over the job of adding
more colour, the garden offers delight in every square inch.
Some beds are carefully edged. They're shapes, neat and
bordered with bricks. Others spill over into each

(03:40):
other, green and perfectly unruly, as though no one is
guiding them where they were meant to stop.
Bees hover in and out of lavender Tufts.
I catch the soft flicker of butterflies, monarchs and
swallow, tails drifting through the air like floating petals.

(04:05):
A Robin hops ahead of me, eyeingthe earth with practised
patience, then darts off into a nearby Azalea as orange as an
autumn pumpkin. Further on, the garden changes.
The path narrows, gravel giving way to soft earth as trees rise

(04:28):
up on either side, apple and cherry, their branches heavy
with green leaves and the promise of fruit.
Here, ferns unfurl in the shade beneath them and wild violets
carpet the ground. It feels quieter, more private.

(04:49):
Back here. I catch glimpses of seating
tucked into little alcoves and iron bench beneath climbing
roses, a swing hanging from a thick old Maple.
I imagine curling up with a bookthere, or closing my eyes and

(05:09):
just listening. At a curve in the path I find a
circular lawn with a stone fountain at its centre.
The sound of trickling water is soft and soothing.
I'm thankful for the huge property this place has procured
to house all of this beauty. Around the edge, white painted

(05:34):
chairs are set out in varying numbers.
The grass here is trimmed close and neat, bordered with low
growing time that releases its scent.
As I brush it with my toes, I wander on deeper into the
garden. It's larger than I remember,

(05:56):
full of corners and turns that make it feel endless.
Around 1 bend, the landscape softens into wildness again.
A tiny stream winds through, flanked by tall grasses and Blue
Flag iris. Dragonflies skim the surface of

(06:19):
the water, their wings catching the sunlight like plates of
glass. A little bridge crosses the
stream, just wide enough for oneon the other side.
The ground rises slightly and the path becomes mulched with
cedar. The scent is rich and earthy.

(06:41):
I climb a few shallow stone steps and come out on to a broad
terrace paved in red brick. It's set with white lounge
chairs and low tables arranged just so to catch the sun as it
moves across the sky. A wisteria vine sprawls above on

(07:04):
a wooden trellis, casting filtered shade in nature's
patterns. Just then, I hear the soft
crunch of footsteps behind me. I turn, and someone in a pale
apron smiles kindly, offering mea choice.
Tea or coffee? Tea is what I decide, and a

(07:27):
delicate porcelain cup is placedon the table beside me, along
with a small saucer bearing a short bread biscuit.
The steam curls upward into the afternoon air.
I sit back in the chair and cradle the warm cup in my hands.

(07:48):
The garden sprawls before me, sunlit and serene, alive with
subtle movement. I sip slowly, noting that this
is what peace feels like. For a long time, I sit in
silence. The wind stirs the leaves and
birds flit through the hedges with chirps and trills.

(08:13):
Somewhere behind me I hear the clink of dishes being cleared,
but I stay still. There's no rush here, no ticking
clock. My weekend decisions will
consist of which spot to sit in the gardens, which book to read
or to have sit on my lap while Iabsorb the colours and smells

(08:37):
around me. Eventually, I rise and continue
walking. There's a pergola ahead, shaded
with Grapevine, and beyond it I glimpse another seating area
ringed with hydrangeas the size of my head, blooming in Blues
and soft greens. I'm not ready to go back inside.

(09:03):
Not yet. I think of that old story again,
the walled garden that brought agrieving child back to life,
breath by breath. There is something timeless in
that idea that nature offers beauty, care and stillness, that

(09:25):
nature doesn't rush. I'm reminded too, that we
ourselves are part of nature, that we can live as gently as
the flowers around us. Secret Garden I'm spending the

(09:47):
weekend at The Secret Garden Bedand Breakfast, a vacation in my
own village that I've started totake every summer around this
time. The air is sweet with the soft
perfume of things blooming that have yet to show themselves to
me. The door clicks shut behind me,

(10:11):
and for a moment I pause on the step, letting the quiet wrap
around me. I'm not even in the main garden
yet, and I'm still surrounded bylush greens of all shades and
deep Reds of small Japanese maples.

(10:31):
Moving forward, my shoes tap lightly on the flagstone path
drawn down a short walk away, hemmed in by foxglove and ladies
mantle. Then I see it.
A charming old thing of wrought iron, softened by vines that

(10:51):
weave their way through the slats and curly cues, their tiny
white blossoms spaced perfectly amongst the leaves, almost fully
covering the gate. Clematis spills across the top
like lace, and a delicate spray of honeysuckle drapes from one

(11:13):
side. The hinges Creek a little as I
push it open, but it moves easily as it welcomes guests
daily in a steady rhythm. And then I'm inside.
The garden opens before me like a quilt being expertly placed on

(11:33):
a bed, floating down even on allsides.
My eyes sweep across a patchworkof colour and texture that
immediately steals every other thought from my mind.
I feel a thrill, like something out of the story I read long ago

(11:55):
and many times since. The one with the hidden door and
The Secret Garden that healed more than just an ailing body.
This place feels like that. Just inside the gate is a fork
in the path. I naturally choose the right

(12:15):
winding slowly past tall stands of delphinium and Spires of
lupins, turning to seed the brighter pinks of Echinacea and
the buttery yellow faces of coreopsis.
Taking over the job of adding more colour, the garden offers

(12:37):
delight in every square inch. Some beds are carefully edged.
They're shapes, neat and bordered with bricks.
Others spill over into each other, green and perfectly
unruly, as though no one is guiding them where they were
meant to stop. Bees hover in and out of

(13:02):
lavender Tufts. I catch the soft flicker of
butterflies, monarchs and swallow, tails drifting through
the air like floating petals. A Robin hops ahead of me, eyeing
the earth with practised patience, then darts off into a

(13:23):
nearby Azalea as orange as an autumn pumpkin.
Further on, the garden changes. The path narrows, gravel giving
way to soft earth as trees rise up on either side, apple and
cherry, their branches heavy with green leaves and the

(13:45):
promise of fruit. Here, ferns unfurl in the shade
beneath them and wild violets carpet the ground.
It feels quieter, more private. Back here.
I catch glimpses of seating tucked into little alcoves and

(14:05):
iron bench beneath climbing roses, a swing hanging from a
thick old Maple. I imagine curling up with a book
there, or closing my eyes and just listening.
At a curve in the path I find a circular lawn with a stone

(14:26):
fountain at its centre. The sound of trickling water is
soft and soothing. I'm thankful for the huge
property this place has procuredto house all of this beauty.
Around the edge, white painted chairs are set out in varying

(14:46):
numbers. The grass here is trimmed close
and neat, bordered with low growing time that releases its
scent. As I brush it with my toes, I
wander on deeper into the garden.
It's larger than I remember, full of corners and turns that

(15:08):
make it feel endless. Around 1 bend, the landscape
softens into wildness again. A tiny stream winds through,
flanked by tall grasses and BlueFlag iris.
Dragonflies skim the surface of the water, their wings catching

(15:31):
the sunlight like plates of glass.
A little bridge crosses the stream, just wide enough for one
on the other side. The ground rises slightly and
the path becomes mulched with cedar.
The scent is rich and earthy. I climb a few shallow stone

(15:53):
steps and come out on to a broadterrace paved in red brick.
It's set with white lounge chairs and low tables arranged
just so to catch the sun as it moves across the sky.
A wisteria vine sprawls above ona wooden trellis, casting

(16:16):
filtered shade in nature's patterns.
Just then, I hear the soft crunch of footsteps behind me.
I turn, and someone in a pale apron smiles kindly, offering me
a choice. Tea or coffee?
Tea is what I decide, and a delicate porcelain cup is placed

(16:39):
on the table beside me, along with a small saucer bearing a
short bread biscuit. The steam curls upward into the
afternoon air. I sit back in the chair and
cradle the warm cup in my hands.The garden sprawls before me,

(17:00):
sunlit and serene, alive with subtle movement.
I sip slowly, noting that this is what peace feels like.
For a long time, I sit in silence.
The wind stirs the leaves and birds flit through the hedges
with chirps and trills. Somewhere behind me I hear the

(17:25):
clink of dishes being cleared, but I stay still.
There's no rush here, no tickingclock.
My weekend decisions will consist of which spot to sit in
the gardens, which book to read or to have sit on my lap while I
absorb the colours and smells around me.

(17:49):
Eventually, I rise and continue walking.
There's a pergola ahead, shaded with Grapevine, and beyond it I
glimpse another seating area ringed with hydrangeas the size
of my head, blooming in Blues and soft greens.

(18:09):
I'm not ready to go back inside.Not yet.
I think of that old story again,the walled garden that brought a
grieving child back to life, breath by breath.
There is something timeless in that idea that nature offers

(18:30):
beauty, care and stillness, thatnature doesn't rush.
I'm reminded too, that we ourselves are part of nature,
that we can live as gently as the flowers around us.
I wish you sweet dreams.