TK Kellman
speaker
248 appearances
2 recordings
1 series
first heard May 2025
last heard yesterday
TK Kellman’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Sep 2026 with 1.
Appearances
Your favorite soothing music was playing on the radio and the sun bathed your face in gentle warmth. You were off to the country on a weekend getaway to a remote bed and breakfast and you would be blissfully alone. You feel liberated by the knowledge that for the next few days you'll have no obligations. Your only plan is to soak up the silence, breathe, and nap.
During your drive this afternoon, you've been filled with delicious relaxation as all your stress has simply melted away. Because, truly, How could a person be anything less than tranquil with such scenery to enjoy? As the traffic gives way to country roads and suburban noise slips into the distance, you feel the embrace of nature all around you.
When you spot a quaint little bus shelter on the side of the road, you know that it is the landmark your bed and breakfast host, Hannah, told you to look for. You are almost at your destination. You slow your car and turn onto a dirt road As you do this, the crunching sound of gravel under your tires floats up through the open window. In a strange way, it makes you feel closer to the country.
You are becoming one with this almost hidden byway. You like that idea because it looks well-loved. The dirt is firmly packed down and bare with use. You get the sense that there are other people who quietly use this route, but they have blended into the countryside. They are part of it. Just this weekend, you will do the same.
Now, as the afternoon sun slants across your path, you feel the day advancing. You are nearing the end of your trip. But you have been glad of these hours in the car. They have allowed you to slowly unwind. The ties that tether you to your busy life have loosened and then let go. You smile to yourself at the thought.
You will pick those ties back up when you are ready to return to the usual routine. For now, you won't think about that at all. By the time you reach the final approach to your destination... you haven't seen another car for many miles. A weathered wooden sign stands partially obscured by a rosebush on the side of the road. It says, Bluebird Lane. You are in the right place.
you slow the car to a crawl and carefully turn onto a narrow track with a line of grass down the middle. On either side of the road, towering trees bow gracefully over you, as if to protect you from the sun's rays. but the light finds its way through, as if playing a game. The limbs of the trees wave gently in the wind, and a golden light flickers playfully through their branches.
The leaves whisper gently by the thousands, and delicate wildflowers dance in the breeze on the roadside, dotting the green grass with cheerful color. You see a gleaming red object up ahead, standing above the tall grass. It is pretty, but it doesn't fit in with the natural canvas. so it draws its eye. As you get closer, you know it's the mailbox you were told to watch for.
When you reach it, you will take a left and park your car. Like a sentinel, it appears to wait cheerfully for you. and you feel oddly privileged to be welcomed in this manner. It's a silly thought, but one that makes you happy. You carefully turn your car onto an unpaved driveway. As you do, the heady scent of blossoms wafts into the car, traveling in one window and out the other.
You inhale deeply and marvel at the complexity of the fragrance. It is perfumed, but it also smells like grass. You take in the sight of a rambling white farmhouse, It sits just beyond the small circular drive you have entered. The house feels friendly, comfortable with the fact that someone added pieces to it, somewhat haphazardly, over the years. Its windows look out sleepily.
behind green shutters. The house looks lazy in a pleasant way, further heightening your sense of peace. Driving around the circle, you maneuver yourself into an area off to the side where another small wooden sign You step out of the car and stretch, reaching upwards as high as you can lift your fingers.
Leaning your head back, you luxuriate in the feeling of being released from the driver's seat. You stare straight up at the white clouds that sail very slowly across the blue sky and take a deep, cleansing breath. You retrieve your overnight bag and close the car door. Then you approach the front of the house, following a charming stone walkway. As you do, a mischievous breeze picks up.
A few white petals float across the paving stones in front of you. To reach the door, you climb up a few creaky steps and stand upon the painted boards of a gracious covered porch. It is one of the wonderfully vast ones that wraps around the entire house. Rocking chairs are placed every few feet from one end of the house to the other, separated by small tables.
Hanging baskets dangle from the white columns that hold up the roof, with gorgeous plumes spilling out of each and every one. You think happily about the hours you will spend here this weekend, you pull open a screen door and step inside the house. The hall is filled with rich, dark wood, but the walls are painted a clean, bright white.
Ahead, a beautiful staircase invites you to climb to the upper level. In the middle of the hall, there is a round table with a plate of large sugar cookies and a note. You set down your overnight bag and walk to the table, picking up the card to read it. Your host, Hannah, has left you a message.
saying she has gone out for milk, but that you should please make yourself at home and help yourself to cookies. Setting the note down, you notice the key sitting next to the plate of cookies. It is tied fancifully with a red ribbon and a white tag It says, number two. You take a cookie that is bigger than the palm of your hand and bite into it.
It is so sweet and soft and your teeth find a tiny crunch on the sugar crystals that have been dusted atop it. You just stand there for a moment, savoring the cookie. When you've taken your last bite, you pick up your overnight bag and hang it over your shoulder. Then, with the key in your other hand, you ascend the staircase.
As you travel up the stairs, you run your fingertips along the smooth antique banister, worn down by the years. At the top, there is a grandfather clock ticking patiently in the corner. Looking beyond it, you see there is a long landing with several doors leading to bedrooms. Each one has a brass number hanging on it. You pass door number one and then put your key in the lock of door number two.
It turns with a satisfying clunk. Pushing the heavy door open, you step into your retreat. You find that you are standing in a spacious room with worn plank floors. A four-poster bed rests between two large windows. where the setting sun casts its deep amber light through the window panes. The sunbeams make large rectangular shapes on the honey-colored wood of the floor.
You sit on the side of the bed and run your hand over the stitches in the soft, handmade quilt. Then, closing your eyes, you inhale the scent of antique wood, which softly pervades the room. The windows are dressed in sheer white curtains. They flutter lightly. perfumed breezes from outside. Along the wall you spy a richly carved wooden dresser with a marble top.
Showing 201–220 of 248 · page 11 of 13
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