October 2, 2025 • 18 mins
With a warm cup of tea in hand on a fall morning, I watch a woman practice Tai Chi in the courtyard across the street. Her movements flow like water, steady and fluid, carrying a calm that reaches me through the glass. Day after day, her presence becomes part of my morning ritual—teaching me about balance, breath, and the quiet beauty of noticing. Join me in this gentle story of mindfulness, reflection, and the unexpected comfort of watching Tai Chi.
This calming story is designed to help you relax, unwind, and 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 that drop every Thursday.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Stories written and read by Jennifer Veinot
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All content copyrighted Jennifer Veinot (Zwicker) 2024, 2025
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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 Watching Tai Chi, and it's about swaying
(01:36):
to the rhythm, drawing pictures on the window, and familiarity
in a new setting. As part of my morning routine,
I've been taking my first hot drink of the day to an upstairs
window in the hallway. I get close enough that the
(01:59):
steam fogs the glass. Some days I draw a heart in it
or my initials, but today I choose to start in the middle
and spiral outwards until I reach the edge of the circle of
droplets. I stepped back to let it clear,
(02:19):
and she appears right on schedule.
She moves slowly in the courtyard across the street,
steady and fluid, her limbs conveying a language I haven't
yet learned. I stand with my tea's swaying to
the rhythm of her practice, eventhough I don't understand what
(02:42):
it all means. I've never done Tai chi, I've
only heard of it in passing. Something about balance, breath,
and a careful, steady presence. As with the explanations I've
read, the movements glides seamlessly from one to another,
(03:04):
like a dance as smooth as water gliding over rounded stones.
Her arms rise and fall in rainbows, the edges of each
motion as round as the spiral I drew in my circle of steam,
which has now faded to let me see clearly through to the
(03:25):
outside. Her feet slide over the ground
as though she's floating or skimming across the surface of a
lake. It's a calming illusion that has
brought me a smile every morningfor the past couple of months
since I first noticed this person in the public courtyard
(03:48):
across the way. Some mornings I stand at the
glass longer than I mean to, theminutes passing without me
noticing, and the mug cools in my hands.
At times sounds seemed to fade like the steam, while others
(04:09):
like the bird songs and leaves stand out more than usual.
Becoming more and more familiar with her routine, one of my
hands leaves the warm ceramic tomimic her slow pushing motion.
My body automatically rocks forward, pulling my right leg
(04:31):
with it. She doesn't look as if she's
pushing against someone or something.
It's like she's moving with the object of her imagination.
Maybe it's an oak door, like theones at the entrance of the
library. They feel heavy at first, but
(04:52):
their own weight seems to carry them the rest of the way.
Maybe it's a boulder that she's beginning to roll with the help
of her friends and family by herside.
The thought of the resistance ofwhatever is being moved makes me
feel a strength in my energy andeven in my body itself.
(05:16):
Although I am barely moving, there are times when she seems
to be gathering the air into herarms on one side, gently
cradling and carrying it across her body, then sharing it with
the space on her other side, allthe while keeping steady balance
(05:38):
as she leans one way and then the other.
Having her do this in an open space where others can sit on a
bench in the same courtyard makes it feel like she's sharing
this practice for the benefit ofanyone who sees it.
I start to anticipate her movements without realizing it,
(06:03):
shifting my weight back and forth, lowering my shoulders and
relaxation as she does, sipping my tea when she brings her open
hands up in front of herself, breathing slower when she might
be doing the same. Over time, I noticed details I
(06:25):
hadn't at first. The shadows of her movements,
stretching and bending across the ground, The flutter of the
lightweight fabric of her clothing.
The way she tilts her head in a certain way, almost like she
sees something in front of her that wasn't there before.
(06:48):
A newly fallen leaf or a reflection in a puddle that
changes with the shifting sun. More than once I've gone
downstairs, hoping to catch her when she finishes.
And just as to day, by the time I reached the courtyard, she's
already left. Still, here are the bricks under
(07:12):
foot, a couple of benches near the fence, and the peaceful
energy she's left in the space. Her absence feels OK, even
though I stand looking around, half expecting her to step back
out from some hidden corner. She doesn't return just then,
(07:35):
but I look forward to seeing heragain.
To Morrow the following morning,when I arrive at the upstairs
window with my red tea, the courtyard is empty.
The benches, the bricks, the soft scatter of leaves, it's all
the same, only quieter. I wait for a while, hoping,
(07:59):
before I remind myself that we all have things to do.
Maybe she slept in, I think, smiling at the thought.
The idea feels both funny and comforting.
I sip my tea, watching the courtyard a touch longer.
And then I turned to the rest ofmy morning, the day carrying on
(08:24):
as it should. Later, when the sun has climbed
higher and the air feels warmer,I head out for a walk.
I was going to walk the path to the beach, but my steps take me
to the park where the pond glimmers through the trees and
the ducks glide happily on the water.
(08:48):
Families passed by with strollers, and a girl on a
bicycle traces slow circles along the walkway.
Then I see her. She's near a tall Maple, moving
in that familiar way, steady, fluid, each gesture opening into
(09:09):
the next. Her arms sweep and gentle arcs
across the green backdrop. Her feet slide across the grass.
And the rhythm I've come to knowcontinues only in this new
setting. I find a bench and sit, content
(09:30):
to watch. The calm spreads towards me as
though carried on the breeze. I notice her breath guiding each
turn, the ease and the way she finishes a motion before
beginning again. When she lowers her arms at
last, she glances up and our eyes meet.
(09:53):
She smiles, not bothered by the audience.
I don't feel the need to go up to her just yet to ask about the
practice or to introduce myself.This is enough for now.
Watching Tai Chi As part of my morning routine, I've been
(10:21):
taking my first hot drink of theday to an upstairs window.
In the hallway. I get close enough that the
steam fogs the glass. Some days I draw a heart in it
or a my initials, but today I choose to start in the middle
and spiral outwards until I reach the edge of the circle of
(10:46):
droplets. I stepped back to let it clear,
and she appears right on schedule.
She moves slowly in the courtyard across the street,
steady and fluid, her limbs conveying a language I haven't
yet learned. I stand with my tea, swaying to
(11:09):
the rhythm of her practice, eventhough I don't understand what
it all means. I've never done Tai chi, I've
only heard of it in passing. Something about balance, breath,
and a careful, steady presence. As with the explanations I've
(11:30):
read, the movements glides seamlessly from one to another,
like a dance as smooth as water gliding over rounded stones.
Her arms rise and fall in rainbows, the edges of each
motion as round as the spiral I drew in my circle of steam,
(11:53):
which has now faded to let me see clearly through to the
outside. Her feet slide over the ground
as though she's floating or skimming across the surface of a
lake. It's a calming illusion that has
brought me a smile every morningfor the past couple of months
(12:15):
since I first noticed this person in the public courtyard
across the way. Some mornings I stand at the
glass longer than I mean to, theminutes passing without me
noticing, and the mug cools in my hands.
At times sounds seemed to fade like the steam, while others
(12:40):
like the bird songs and leaves stand out more than usual.
Becoming more and more familiar with her routine, one of my
hands leaves the warm ceramic tomimic her slow pushing motion.
My body automatically rocks forward, pulling my right leg
(13:03):
with it. She doesn't look as if she's
pushing against someone or something.
It's like she's moving with the object of her imagination.
Maybe it's an oak door, like theones at the entrance of the
library. They feel heavy at first, but
(13:23):
their own weight seems to carry them the rest of the way.
Maybe it's a boulder that she's beginning to roll with the help
of her friends and family by herside.
The thought of the resistance ofwhatever is being moved makes me
feel a strength in my energy andeven in my body itself.
(13:48):
Although I am barely moving, there are times when she seems
to be gathering the air into herarms on one side, gently
cradling and carrying it across her body, then sharing it with
the space on her other side, allthe while keeping steady balance
(14:10):
as she leans one way and then the other.
Having her do this in an open space where others can sit on a
bench in the same courtyard makes it feel like she's sharing
this practice for the benefit ofanyone who sees it.
I start to anticipate her movements without realizing it,
(14:34):
shifting my weight back and forth, lowering my shoulders in
relaxation as she does, sipping my tea when she brings her open
hands up in front of herself, breathing slower when she might
be doing the same. Overtime I noticed details I
(14:57):
hadn't at first. The shadows of her movements,
stretching and bending across the ground, The flutter of the
lightweight fabric of her clothing.
The way she tilts her head in a certain way, almost like she
sees something in front of her that wasn't there before.
(15:19):
A newly fallen leaf or a reflection in a puddle that
changes with the shifting sun. More than once I've gone
downstairs, hoping to catch her when she finishes.
And just as to day, by the time I reached the courtyard, she's
already left. Still, here are the bricks under
(15:43):
foot, a couple of benches near the fence, and the peaceful
energy she's left in the space. Her absence feels OK, even
though I stand looking around, half expecting her to step back
out from some hidden corner. She doesn't return just then,
(16:06):
but I look forward to seeing heragain.
To Morrow the following morning,when I arrive at the upstairs
window with my red tea, the courtyard is empty.
The benches, the bricks, the soft scatter of leaves, it's all
the same, only quieter. I wait for a while, hoping,
(16:30):
before I remind myself that we all have things to do.
Maybe she slept in, I think, smiling at the thought.
The idea feels both funny and comforting.
I sip my tea, watching the courtyard a touch longer.
And then I turned to the rest ofmy morning, the day carrying on
(16:55):
as it should. Later, when the sun has climbed
higher and the air feels warmer,I head out for a walk.
I was going to walk the path to the beach, but my steps take me
to the park where the pond glimmers through the trees and
the ducks glide happily on the water.
(17:19):
Families passed by with strollers, and a girl on a
bicycle traces slow circles along the walkway.
Then I see her. She's near a tall Maple, moving
in that familiar way, steady, fluid, each gesture opening into
(17:40):
the next. Her arms sweep and gentle arcs
across the green backdrop. Her feet slide across the grass.
And the rhythm I've come to knowcontinues only in this new
setting. I find a bench and sit, content
(18:01):
to watch. The calm spreads towards me as
though carried on the breeze. I notice her breath guiding each
turn, the ease and the way she finishes a motion before
beginning again. When she lowers her arms at
last, she glances up and our eyes meet.
(18:25):
She smiles, not bothered by the audience.
I don't feel the need to go up to her just yet to ask about the
practice or to introduce myself.This is enough for now.
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 Watching Tai Chi, and it's about swaying
(01:36):
to the rhythm, drawing pictures on the window, and familiarity
in a new setting. As part of my morning routine,
I've been taking my first hot drink of the day to an upstairs
window in the hallway. I get close enough that the
(01:59):
steam fogs the glass. Some days I draw a heart in it
or my initials, but today I choose to start in the middle
and spiral outwards until I reach the edge of the circle of
droplets. I stepped back to let it clear,
(02:19):
and she appears right on schedule.
She moves slowly in the courtyard across the street,
steady and fluid, her limbs conveying a language I haven't
yet learned. I stand with my tea's swaying to
the rhythm of her practice, eventhough I don't understand what
(02:42):
it all means. I've never done Tai chi, I've
only heard of it in passing. Something about balance, breath,
and a careful, steady presence. As with the explanations I've
read, the movements glides seamlessly from one to another,
(03:04):
like a dance as smooth as water gliding over rounded stones.
Her arms rise and fall in rainbows, the edges of each
motion as round as the spiral I drew in my circle of steam,
which has now faded to let me see clearly through to the
(03:25):
outside. Her feet slide over the ground
as though she's floating or skimming across the surface of a
lake. It's a calming illusion that has
brought me a smile every morningfor the past couple of months
since I first noticed this person in the public courtyard
(03:48):
across the way. Some mornings I stand at the
glass longer than I mean to, theminutes passing without me
noticing, and the mug cools in my hands.
At times sounds seemed to fade like the steam, while others
(04:09):
like the bird songs and leaves stand out more than usual.
Becoming more and more familiar with her routine, one of my
hands leaves the warm ceramic tomimic her slow pushing motion.
My body automatically rocks forward, pulling my right leg
(04:31):
with it. She doesn't look as if she's
pushing against someone or something.
It's like she's moving with the object of her imagination.
Maybe it's an oak door, like theones at the entrance of the
library. They feel heavy at first, but
(04:52):
their own weight seems to carry them the rest of the way.
Maybe it's a boulder that she's beginning to roll with the help
of her friends and family by herside.
The thought of the resistance ofwhatever is being moved makes me
feel a strength in my energy andeven in my body itself.
(05:16):
Although I am barely moving, there are times when she seems
to be gathering the air into herarms on one side, gently
cradling and carrying it across her body, then sharing it with
the space on her other side, allthe while keeping steady balance
(05:38):
as she leans one way and then the other.
Having her do this in an open space where others can sit on a
bench in the same courtyard makes it feel like she's sharing
this practice for the benefit ofanyone who sees it.
I start to anticipate her movements without realizing it,
(06:03):
shifting my weight back and forth, lowering my shoulders and
relaxation as she does, sipping my tea when she brings her open
hands up in front of herself, breathing slower when she might
be doing the same. Over time, I noticed details I
(06:25):
hadn't at first. The shadows of her movements,
stretching and bending across the ground, The flutter of the
lightweight fabric of her clothing.
The way she tilts her head in a certain way, almost like she
sees something in front of her that wasn't there before.
(06:48):
A newly fallen leaf or a reflection in a puddle that
changes with the shifting sun. More than once I've gone
downstairs, hoping to catch her when she finishes.
And just as to day, by the time I reached the courtyard, she's
already left. Still, here are the bricks under
(07:12):
foot, a couple of benches near the fence, and the peaceful
energy she's left in the space. Her absence feels OK, even
though I stand looking around, half expecting her to step back
out from some hidden corner. She doesn't return just then,
(07:35):
but I look forward to seeing heragain.
To Morrow the following morning,when I arrive at the upstairs
window with my red tea, the courtyard is empty.
The benches, the bricks, the soft scatter of leaves, it's all
the same, only quieter. I wait for a while, hoping,
(07:59):
before I remind myself that we all have things to do.
Maybe she slept in, I think, smiling at the thought.
The idea feels both funny and comforting.
I sip my tea, watching the courtyard a touch longer.
And then I turned to the rest ofmy morning, the day carrying on
(08:24):
as it should. Later, when the sun has climbed
higher and the air feels warmer,I head out for a walk.
I was going to walk the path to the beach, but my steps take me
to the park where the pond glimmers through the trees and
the ducks glide happily on the water.
(08:48):
Families passed by with strollers, and a girl on a
bicycle traces slow circles along the walkway.
Then I see her. She's near a tall Maple, moving
in that familiar way, steady, fluid, each gesture opening into
(09:09):
the next. Her arms sweep and gentle arcs
across the green backdrop. Her feet slide across the grass.
And the rhythm I've come to knowcontinues only in this new
setting. I find a bench and sit, content
(09:30):
to watch. The calm spreads towards me as
though carried on the breeze. I notice her breath guiding each
turn, the ease and the way she finishes a motion before
beginning again. When she lowers her arms at
last, she glances up and our eyes meet.
(09:53):
She smiles, not bothered by the audience.
I don't feel the need to go up to her just yet to ask about the
practice or to introduce myself.This is enough for now.
Watching Tai Chi As part of my morning routine, I've been
(10:21):
taking my first hot drink of theday to an upstairs window.
In the hallway. I get close enough that the
steam fogs the glass. Some days I draw a heart in it
or a my initials, but today I choose to start in the middle
and spiral outwards until I reach the edge of the circle of
(10:46):
droplets. I stepped back to let it clear,
and she appears right on schedule.
She moves slowly in the courtyard across the street,
steady and fluid, her limbs conveying a language I haven't
yet learned. I stand with my tea, swaying to
(11:09):
the rhythm of her practice, eventhough I don't understand what
it all means. I've never done Tai chi, I've
only heard of it in passing. Something about balance, breath,
and a careful, steady presence. As with the explanations I've
(11:30):
read, the movements glides seamlessly from one to another,
like a dance as smooth as water gliding over rounded stones.
Her arms rise and fall in rainbows, the edges of each
motion as round as the spiral I drew in my circle of steam,
(11:53):
which has now faded to let me see clearly through to the
outside. Her feet slide over the ground
as though she's floating or skimming across the surface of a
lake. It's a calming illusion that has
brought me a smile every morningfor the past couple of months
(12:15):
since I first noticed this person in the public courtyard
across the way. Some mornings I stand at the
glass longer than I mean to, theminutes passing without me
noticing, and the mug cools in my hands.
At times sounds seemed to fade like the steam, while others
(12:40):
like the bird songs and leaves stand out more than usual.
Becoming more and more familiar with her routine, one of my
hands leaves the warm ceramic tomimic her slow pushing motion.
My body automatically rocks forward, pulling my right leg
(13:03):
with it. She doesn't look as if she's
pushing against someone or something.
It's like she's moving with the object of her imagination.
Maybe it's an oak door, like theones at the entrance of the
library. They feel heavy at first, but
(13:23):
their own weight seems to carry them the rest of the way.
Maybe it's a boulder that she's beginning to roll with the help
of her friends and family by herside.
The thought of the resistance ofwhatever is being moved makes me
feel a strength in my energy andeven in my body itself.
(13:48):
Although I am barely moving, there are times when she seems
to be gathering the air into herarms on one side, gently
cradling and carrying it across her body, then sharing it with
the space on her other side, allthe while keeping steady balance
(14:10):
as she leans one way and then the other.
Having her do this in an open space where others can sit on a
bench in the same courtyard makes it feel like she's sharing
this practice for the benefit ofanyone who sees it.
I start to anticipate her movements without realizing it,
(14:34):
shifting my weight back and forth, lowering my shoulders in
relaxation as she does, sipping my tea when she brings her open
hands up in front of herself, breathing slower when she might
be doing the same. Overtime I noticed details I
(14:57):
hadn't at first. The shadows of her movements,
stretching and bending across the ground, The flutter of the
lightweight fabric of her clothing.
The way she tilts her head in a certain way, almost like she
sees something in front of her that wasn't there before.
(15:19):
A newly fallen leaf or a reflection in a puddle that
changes with the shifting sun. More than once I've gone
downstairs, hoping to catch her when she finishes.
And just as to day, by the time I reached the courtyard, she's
already left. Still, here are the bricks under
(15:43):
foot, a couple of benches near the fence, and the peaceful
energy she's left in the space. Her absence feels OK, even
though I stand looking around, half expecting her to step back
out from some hidden corner. She doesn't return just then,
(16:06):
but I look forward to seeing heragain.
To Morrow the following morning,when I arrive at the upstairs
window with my red tea, the courtyard is empty.
The benches, the bricks, the soft scatter of leaves, it's all
the same, only quieter. I wait for a while, hoping,
(16:30):
before I remind myself that we all have things to do.
Maybe she slept in, I think, smiling at the thought.
The idea feels both funny and comforting.
I sip my tea, watching the courtyard a touch longer.
And then I turned to the rest ofmy morning, the day carrying on
(16:55):
as it should. Later, when the sun has climbed
higher and the air feels warmer,I head out for a walk.
I was going to walk the path to the beach, but my steps take me
to the park where the pond glimmers through the trees and
the ducks glide happily on the water.
(17:19):
Families passed by with strollers, and a girl on a
bicycle traces slow circles along the walkway.
Then I see her. She's near a tall Maple, moving
in that familiar way, steady, fluid, each gesture opening into
(17:40):
the next. Her arms sweep and gentle arcs
across the green backdrop. Her feet slide across the grass.
And the rhythm I've come to knowcontinues only in this new
setting. I find a bench and sit, content
(18:01):
to watch. The calm spreads towards me as
though carried on the breeze. I notice her breath guiding each
turn, the ease and the way she finishes a motion before
beginning again. When she lowers her arms at
last, she glances up and our eyes meet.
(18:25):
She smiles, not bothered by the audience.
I don't feel the need to go up to her just yet to ask about the
practice or to introduce myself.This is enough for now.
I wish you sweet dreams.
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