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

0:01 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 Garden and it's about spending the weekend at a bed and breakfast, natures reminders and the way it can be perfectly unruly. I'm spending the weekend at The Secret Garden Bed and Breakfast, a vacation in my own village that I've started to take every summer around this time.

0:50 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. 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 hemmed in by foxglove and ladies mantle.

1:35 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 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 side. The hinges Creek a little as I push it open, but it moves easily as it welcomes guests daily in a steady rhythm.

2:16 And then I'm inside. The garden opens before me like a quilt being expertly placed on a bed, floating down even on all sides. My eyes sweep across a patchwork of 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 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.

2:59 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 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 other, green and perfectly unruly, as though no one is guiding them where they were meant to stop.

3:50 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. A Robin hops ahead of me, eyeing the 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 up on either side, apple and cherry, their branches heavy with green leaves and the promise of fruit.

4:38 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 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 fountain at its centre.

5:19 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 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, full of corners and turns that make it feel endless.

6:02 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 the water, their wings catching 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 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 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 me a choice.

7:22 Tea or coffee? Tea is what I decide, and a delicate porcelain cup is placed 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, 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.

8:13 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 I absorb the colours and smells 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.

9:03 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 beauty, care and stillness, that 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 weekend at The Secret Garden Bed and Breakfast, a vacation in my own village 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. 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.

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 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 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.

11:28 The garden opens before me like a quilt being expertly placed on a bed, floating down even on all sides. My eyes sweep across a patchwork of 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 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 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.

12:31 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 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. A Robin hops ahead of me, eyeing the earth with practised patience, then darts off into a nearby Azalea as orange as an autumn pumpkin.

13:28 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 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 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.

14:21 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 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.

15:03 It's larger than I remember, 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 the water, their wings catching 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.

15:47 The scent is rich and earthy. 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 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 me a choice. Tea or coffee?

16:34 Tea is what I decide, and a delicate porcelain cup is placed 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, 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.

17:14 The wind stirs the leaves and birds flit through the hedges with chirps and trills. 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 I absorb the colours and smells 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.

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 beauty, care and stillness, that 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. I wish you sweet dreams.