🛋️ ☕️ Moving Furniture - A Cozy Snow Day Story for Calm & Relaxation

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Welcome to The Slow Life.
I'm Jennifer Vino and I create,

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narrate, and design the
soundscape of this village of

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00:00:12,080 --> 00:00:15,840
cozy stories to relax and
unwind.

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00:00:16,880 --> 00:00:20,250
Each week I share an original
story.

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Read 2 times so you can relax
even more during the second

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reading.
I also create micro experiences

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inspired by the stories you
hear.

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These are short, gentle reading
moments designed to help you

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slow down and rest in the
village for as long as you like.

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They're available now to enjoy
on screen or on paper,

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individually or in small bundles
through the slow life.ca under

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the Shop tab.
Let's settle in with some easy

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breathing at your own pace.
With each inhale, let fresh air

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fill the space around your
heart.

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With each exhale, feel the calm
air spread through your body and

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flow out through your arms and
legs, gently in through your

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heart.
Gently out through your body, in

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through your heart, out through
your body.

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And now let's begin.
This story is called Moving

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Furniture and it's about enough
snow to stay home making small

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changes and not adding anything
at all.

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Snow has been falling for hours
by the time I wake for light

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00:02:14,400 --> 00:02:19,990
coming through, the window is
low and even without a clear

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direction and the room feels
still.

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00:02:25,150 --> 00:02:30,030
When I look out the window, the
street is already filling in,

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the familiar shapes reduced to
outlines.

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I stay in bed, listening to the
quiet that snow brings with it.

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Not complete silence exactly,
but the sound of traffic has

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been absorbed.
Even the usual early morning

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movement in the village feels
paused.

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00:02:58,280 --> 00:03:04,450
I pull the duvet up higher for a
few minutes, then finally sit up

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00:03:04,540 --> 00:03:08,520
and swing my feet to the floor
and into my slippers.

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The house is warm, which never
goes unnoticed, and I'm thankful

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for what's available to me.
In the kitchen.

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I make coffee and wrap both
hands around the mug, sauntering

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to the windows by the Bistro
table while it cools enough to

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drink.
Snow continues to fall and

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00:03:36,540 --> 00:03:42,070
there's no sense of urgency
outside, no sign that the day

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00:03:42,080 --> 00:03:48,670
will ask much of anyone.
I carry my coffee with me as I

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00:03:48,680 --> 00:03:54,430
make my way to the living room,
not doing anything yet, just

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using my space to move around
in.

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The Chesterfield is where it
always is.

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00:04:02,420 --> 00:04:05,980
The chair by the window holds a
folded blanket.

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00:04:07,050 --> 00:04:12,440
A side table sits between them
with a lamp available to both

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00:04:12,450 --> 00:04:16,540
seats.
A small pile of books, stacked

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00:04:16,550 --> 00:04:23,190
neatly for easy access.
Everything is fine, comfortable,

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00:04:23,240 --> 00:04:27,850
familiar.
I set my mug down on the

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fireplace mantle and bend to
retrieve something that's rolled

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underneath the little table, one
of the cat's small felted toys

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00:04:40,150 --> 00:04:46,190
pushed far enough back to be out
of reach when I slide the table

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out to get it.
I pause.

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00:04:49,120 --> 00:04:54,310
The table looks good where it's
landed, just a bit closer to my

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00:04:54,320 --> 00:04:59,770
favorite chair, no longer tucked
so tightly into its corner.

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00:05:01,200 --> 00:05:06,670
I leave it there and stand back,
coffee forgotten for a moment.

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00:05:08,070 --> 00:05:11,280
The change is small, but it
shifts the room.

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00:05:12,270 --> 00:05:18,450
The ramp feels more useful.
The space opens up, inviting me

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to see what comes next.
I move the table another few

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inches, then straighten it,
aligning it with the edge of the

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00:05:29,320 --> 00:05:34,180
rug.
I pick up my mug again and take

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00:05:34,190 --> 00:05:38,280
a sip, looking around with more
attention now.

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00:05:39,530 --> 00:05:44,290
The snow keeps falling and my
day opens up to opportunity.

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00:05:46,210 --> 00:05:51,120
I slide the Chesterfield next,
so it faces the room at a

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00:05:51,130 --> 00:05:56,680
different angle.
I sit briefly to test it, feet

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00:05:56,690 --> 00:06:00,660
tucked under me, coffee warming
my hands.

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00:06:02,420 --> 00:06:08,100
From here, the view outside is
clearer, the window acting as

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00:06:08,110 --> 00:06:12,130
the focal point now instead of
sitting to the side.

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00:06:13,970 --> 00:06:19,020
I don't want to reinvent the
room, only adjust so it feels

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00:06:19,030 --> 00:06:23,680
more lived in, less like
furniture lined up along the

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00:06:23,690 --> 00:06:27,980
edges.
I straighten the rug beneath it,

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00:06:28,200 --> 00:06:31,010
then step back to see how it's
going.

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00:06:32,540 --> 00:06:36,030
Each change leads easily to the
next.

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00:06:36,360 --> 00:06:41,460
Shifting the coffee table
slightly to centre it, moving

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00:06:41,470 --> 00:06:45,730
the lamp cord so it falls neatly
behind the table leg.

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00:06:47,470 --> 00:06:52,120
I rearrange the stack of books
with their spines facing the

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00:06:52,130 --> 00:06:55,310
same direction, then leave them
alone.

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00:06:56,710 --> 00:07:01,440
There's no rush.
The snow storm gives me time and

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00:07:01,450 --> 00:07:04,450
my minds not resisting the
changes.

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00:07:05,910 --> 00:07:09,190
I pause near the edge of the rug
to have a look.

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00:07:10,160 --> 00:07:16,590
The room feels open without
feeling unfinished, a cozy place

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to sit, to stay, to look out at
the snow or turn toward the

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fireplace.
The way it was before felt right

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00:07:27,360 --> 00:07:31,080
just the same.
But I like this kind of change.

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00:07:31,090 --> 00:07:38,650
Once in a while, I refill my hot
drink, then find myself at my

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00:07:38,660 --> 00:07:43,090
bedroom door instead of
returning to the living room to

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00:07:43,100 --> 00:07:47,650
sit.
The bed is neatly made, the

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00:07:47,660 --> 00:07:52,090
duvet smoothed from earlier,
pillows plumped at the

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00:07:52,100 --> 00:07:56,160
headboard.
It all looks comfortable where

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00:07:56,170 --> 00:08:02,000
it is, but I hesitate in the
doorway, feeling that sense that

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00:08:02,010 --> 00:08:07,510
a shift could be fun.
I walk the length of the room

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00:08:07,520 --> 00:08:11,340
once, then again, mug in my
hands.

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00:08:12,420 --> 00:08:18,310
The bed is along the wall, which
usually feels right, but to day,

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00:08:18,360 --> 00:08:23,750
with the snow falling steadily
outside, I imagine waking to

93
00:08:23,760 --> 00:08:29,410
that view directly, the light
coming toward me instead of from

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00:08:29,420 --> 00:08:34,500
the side.
I set my drink down and pulled

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00:08:34,510 --> 00:08:39,230
the duvet back, folding it
carefully before lifting the

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00:08:39,240 --> 00:08:43,990
pillows and setting them on the
chair to make the bed easier to

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00:08:44,000 --> 00:08:48,580
move.
It slides more easily than I

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00:08:48,590 --> 00:08:52,080
expect.
I guide it slowly across the

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00:08:52,090 --> 00:08:58,360
floor, adjusting as I go, until
the headboard rests against the

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00:08:58,370 --> 00:09:05,210
opposite wall in the middle.
I pause here and still on the

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00:09:05,220 --> 00:09:10,530
frame, checking the space on
either side, making sure the

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00:09:10,540 --> 00:09:17,140
room doesn't feel crowded.
When I remake the bed, it feels

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00:09:17,150 --> 00:09:22,670
right immediately.
The duvet falls smoothly centred

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00:09:22,680 --> 00:09:28,410
without effort.
The pillows sit evenly from the

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00:09:28,420 --> 00:09:32,550
foot of the bed.
The window now feels like part

106
00:09:32,560 --> 00:09:36,240
of the display rather than an
afterthought.

107
00:09:37,870 --> 00:09:42,790
I sit on the bed and think of
how small movements can change a

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00:09:42,800 --> 00:09:47,310
space without needing to add
anything at all.

109
00:09:48,840 --> 00:09:53,310
The snow outside continues at
the same pace.

110
00:09:53,900 --> 00:10:00,010
The village remains quiet.
I imagine other houses doing

111
00:10:00,020 --> 00:10:06,520
much the same thing today.
Kettles on, maybe furniture

112
00:10:06,530 --> 00:10:12,010
shifting, people adapting to the
weather that keeps you close to

113
00:10:12,020 --> 00:10:16,840
home.
I move the bedside table back

114
00:10:16,850 --> 00:10:22,080
within reach of the bed, then
adjust the lamp so the light

115
00:10:22,090 --> 00:10:25,150
falls just right for bedtime
reading.

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00:10:26,810 --> 00:10:32,660
I smoothed the duvet once more,
and in the hallway I glance into

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00:10:32,670 --> 00:10:35,400
the small room at the back of
the house.

118
00:10:37,060 --> 00:10:42,430
That table could be turned and
the chair could move closer to

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00:10:42,440 --> 00:10:46,400
the bookshelf.
The thought makes me smile.

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00:10:47,150 --> 00:10:49,970
Tomorrow will be another snow
day.

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00:10:50,880 --> 00:10:56,030
There will be time.
For now, the changes I've made

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00:10:56,040 --> 00:11:09,330
are enough moving furniture.
Snow has been falling for hours

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00:11:09,340 --> 00:11:14,710
by the time I wake for light
coming through, the window is

124
00:11:14,720 --> 00:11:20,850
low and even without a clear
direction and the room feels

125
00:11:20,860 --> 00:11:25,710
still.
When I look out the window, the

126
00:11:25,720 --> 00:11:31,680
street is already filling in,
the familiar shapes reduced to

127
00:11:31,690 --> 00:11:37,060
outlines.
I stay in bed, listening to the

128
00:11:37,070 --> 00:11:44,290
quiet that snow brings with it.
Not complete silence exactly,

129
00:11:44,360 --> 00:11:47,640
but the sound of traffic has
been absorbed.

130
00:11:49,310 --> 00:11:54,000
Even the usual early morning
movement in the village feels

131
00:11:54,010 --> 00:11:59,210
paused.
I pull the duvet up higher for a

132
00:11:59,220 --> 00:12:05,010
few minutes, then finally sit up
and swing my feet to the floor

133
00:12:05,020 --> 00:12:10,930
and into my slippers.
The host is warm, which never

134
00:12:10,940 --> 00:12:18,140
goes unnoticed, and I'm thankful
for what's available to me in

135
00:12:18,150 --> 00:12:21,500
the kitchen.
I make coffee and wrap both

136
00:12:21,510 --> 00:12:26,920
hands around the mug, sauntering
to the windows by the Bistro

137
00:12:26,930 --> 00:12:30,120
table while it cools enough to
drink.

138
00:12:32,160 --> 00:12:37,010
Snow continues to fall and
there's no sense of urgency

139
00:12:37,020 --> 00:12:42,240
outside, no sign that the day
will ask much of anyone.

140
00:12:44,030 --> 00:12:49,380
I carry my coffee with me as I
make my way to the living room,

141
00:12:49,750 --> 00:12:55,140
not doing anything yet, just
using my space to move around

142
00:12:55,150 --> 00:12:58,900
in.
The Chesterfield is where it

143
00:12:58,910 --> 00:13:02,860
always is.
The chair by the window holds a

144
00:13:02,870 --> 00:13:08,170
folded blanket.
A side table sits between them

145
00:13:08,360 --> 00:13:11,220
with a lamp available to both
seats.

146
00:13:12,270 --> 00:13:16,820
A small pile of books, stacked
neatly for easy access.

147
00:13:18,130 --> 00:13:22,300
Everything is fine, comfortable,
familiar.

148
00:13:23,850 --> 00:13:29,020
I set my mug down on the
fireplace mantle and bend to

149
00:13:29,030 --> 00:13:35,120
retrieve something that's rolled
underneath the little table, one

150
00:13:35,130 --> 00:13:40,620
of the cat's small felted toys
pushed far enough back to be out

151
00:13:40,630 --> 00:13:45,660
of reach when I slide the table
out to get it.

152
00:13:45,720 --> 00:13:49,300
I pause.
The table looks good where it's

153
00:13:49,310 --> 00:13:55,640
landed, just a bit closer to my
favorite chair, no longer tucked

154
00:13:55,650 --> 00:14:01,790
so tightly into its corner.
I leave it there and stand back,

155
00:14:02,560 --> 00:14:08,150
coffee forgotten for a moment.
The change is small, but it

156
00:14:08,160 --> 00:14:12,810
shifts the room.
The ramp feels more useful.

157
00:14:13,320 --> 00:14:18,620
The space opens up, inviting me
to see what comes next.

158
00:14:20,330 --> 00:14:25,020
I move the table another few
inches, then straighten it,

159
00:14:25,350 --> 00:14:28,020
aligning it with the edge of the
rug.

160
00:14:29,840 --> 00:14:35,210
I pick up my mug again and take
a sip, looking around with more

161
00:14:35,220 --> 00:14:40,050
attention now.
The snow keeps falling and my

162
00:14:40,060 --> 00:14:46,980
day opens up to opportunity.
I slide the Chesterfield next,

163
00:14:47,240 --> 00:14:50,430
so it faces the room at a
different angle.

164
00:14:51,770 --> 00:14:57,980
I sit briefly to test it, feet
tucked under me, coffee warming

165
00:14:57,990 --> 00:15:03,060
my hands.
From here, the view outside is

166
00:15:03,070 --> 00:15:08,800
clearer, the window acting as
the focal point now instead of

167
00:15:08,810 --> 00:15:14,130
sitting to the side.
I don't want to reinvent the

168
00:15:14,140 --> 00:15:19,750
room, only adjust so it feels
more lived in, less like

169
00:15:19,760 --> 00:15:22,520
furniture lined up along the
edges.

170
00:15:23,940 --> 00:15:28,610
I straighten the rug beneath it,
then step back to see how it's

171
00:15:28,620 --> 00:15:33,460
going.
Each change leads easily to the

172
00:15:33,470 --> 00:15:36,640
next.
Shifting the coffee table

173
00:15:36,650 --> 00:15:42,270
slightly to centre it, moving
the lamp cord so it falls neatly

174
00:15:42,280 --> 00:15:48,210
behind the table leg.
I rearrange the stack of books

175
00:15:48,280 --> 00:15:52,950
with their spines facing the
same direction, then leave them

176
00:15:52,960 --> 00:15:56,590
alone.
There's no rush.

177
00:15:56,700 --> 00:16:01,760
The snow storm gives me time and
my minds not resisting the

178
00:16:01,770 --> 00:16:06,310
changes.
I pause near the edge of the rug

179
00:16:06,320 --> 00:16:10,600
to have a look.
The room feels open without

180
00:16:10,610 --> 00:16:18,270
feeling unfinished, a cozy place
to sit, to stay, to look out at

181
00:16:18,280 --> 00:16:21,530
the snow or turn toward the
fireplace.

182
00:16:22,900 --> 00:16:26,990
The way it was before felt right
just the same.

183
00:16:27,080 --> 00:16:33,920
But I like this kind of change.
Once in a while, I refill my hot

184
00:16:33,930 --> 00:16:39,000
drink, then find myself at my
bedroom door instead of

185
00:16:39,010 --> 00:16:41,790
returning to the living room to
sit.

186
00:16:43,300 --> 00:16:48,390
The bed is neatly made, the
duvet smoothed from earlier,

187
00:16:48,780 --> 00:16:51,050
pillows plumped at the
headboard.

188
00:16:52,000 --> 00:16:56,970
It all looks comfortable where
it is, but I hesitate in the

189
00:16:56,980 --> 00:17:01,870
doorway, feeling that sense that
a shift could be fun.

190
00:17:03,650 --> 00:17:08,920
I walk the length of the room
once, then again, mug in my

191
00:17:08,930 --> 00:17:13,310
hands.
The bed is along the wall, which

192
00:17:13,319 --> 00:17:18,890
usually feels right, but to day,
with the snow falling steadily

193
00:17:18,900 --> 00:17:25,050
outside, I imagine waking to
that view directly, the light

194
00:17:25,060 --> 00:17:28,339
coming toward me instead of from
the side.

195
00:17:30,070 --> 00:17:35,240
I set my drink down and pulled
the duvet back, folding it

196
00:17:35,250 --> 00:17:39,660
carefully before lifting the
pillows and setting them on the

197
00:17:39,670 --> 00:17:42,730
chair to make the bed easier to
move.

198
00:17:44,580 --> 00:17:47,410
It slides more easily than I
expect.

199
00:17:48,110 --> 00:17:54,420
I guide it slowly across the
floor, adjusting as I go, until

200
00:17:54,430 --> 00:17:58,680
the headboard rests against the
opposite wall in the middle.

201
00:18:00,400 --> 00:18:05,970
I pause here, hands still on the
frame, checking the space on

202
00:18:05,980 --> 00:18:10,760
either side, making sure the
room doesn't feel crowded.

203
00:18:12,450 --> 00:18:16,760
When I remake the bed, it feels
right immediately.

204
00:18:17,540 --> 00:18:22,010
The duvet falls smoothly centred
without effort.

205
00:18:22,640 --> 00:18:27,920
The pillows sit evenly from the
foot of the bed.

206
00:18:28,210 --> 00:18:33,460
The window now feels like part
of the display rather than an

207
00:18:33,470 --> 00:18:38,380
afterthought.
I sit on the bed and think of

208
00:18:38,390 --> 00:18:43,940
how small movements can change a
space without needing to add

209
00:18:43,950 --> 00:18:50,080
anything at all.
The snow outside continues at

210
00:18:50,090 --> 00:18:54,460
the same pace.
The village remains quiet.

211
00:18:55,700 --> 00:18:58,610
Are you?
Imagine other houses doing much

212
00:18:58,620 --> 00:19:04,710
the same thing today.
Kettles on, maybe furniture

213
00:19:04,720 --> 00:19:10,200
shifting, people adapting to the
weather that keeps you close to

214
00:19:10,210 --> 00:19:15,030
home.
I move the bedside table back

215
00:19:15,040 --> 00:19:20,280
within reach of the bed, then
adjust the lamp so the light

216
00:19:20,290 --> 00:19:23,340
falls just right for bedtime
reading.

217
00:19:25,000 --> 00:19:30,850
I smoothed the duvet once more,
and in the hallway I glance into

218
00:19:30,860 --> 00:19:33,600
the small room at the back of
the house.

219
00:19:35,260 --> 00:19:40,610
That table could be turned and
the chair could move closer to

220
00:19:40,620 --> 00:19:44,600
the bookshelf.
The thought makes me smile.

221
00:19:45,350 --> 00:19:48,160
Tomorrow will be another snow
day.

222
00:19:49,080 --> 00:19:54,220
There will be time.
For now, the changes I've made

223
00:19:54,230 --> 00:19:59,740
are enough.
I wish you sweet dreams.