Letters from the Catskills: A Sky that Holds the Trees
I arrived in the Catskills quiet, carrying a suitcase filled with more questions than clothes. Solitude has a way of revealing what we’ve tucked into the corners of our lives. But here, in the hush between mountains and sky, I felt something loosen.
Each evening, when the sky began its slow descent into blue, I’d sit on the deck and let my pen wander through the echoes of the day—the thoughts, the longings, the not-yet-knowing.The sky would deepen into layered blues—indigo, slate, navy. And somehow, as the sky dimmed, the trees would glow. Not with light, exactly. But with a kind of presence. As if the forest knew something I didn’t, or had simply stopped pretending to forget.
In those evenings, the air itself felt like ceremony. The cool rising from the earth. The first chirp of the night creatures. The wind threading its way through leaves like fingers in water. I stood still—sometimes for minutes, sometimes longer—just watching the sky turn.
There was no rush. No striving. Just being. Just breath.
I began to understand that rootedness doesn’t always require staying in one place. It can mean returning—again and again—to what reminds you of your wholeness. To land that welcomes you back like an old friend. To the stillness that waits beneath the noise of doing.
The trees, long-anchored and unapologetically alive, taught me how to linger.
And so I did.
Walking Meditation: Rooted, Wherever You Are
Whether you're in a forest, on a city sidewalk, or pacing your kitchen—this practice is for you.
Begin with Breath: Stand tall. Feel the soles of your feet make contact with the ground. Take three slow, deep breaths. With each exhale, allow your body to soften. Let your shoulders drop. Let your jaw unclench. Let your pace of thought slow.
Move Forward, Walking Slowly: Let each step be its own act of presence. Feel the heel touch down, then the ball, then the toes. Walk without urgency. As if you had nowhere to be but here.
Bring Attention to the Ground Beneath You: Is it soft? Firm? Uneven? Pay attention to how the earth—or concrete, or tile—holds you. Whisper a quiet thank you to what supports you.
Notice What’s Around You: Without judgment, just observe. Light. Shadow. A tree. A window. A weed cracking through pavement. Let your senses open without trying to name or solve.
Return to the Breath: As you walk, breathe deeply. Let each inhale bring you back to your body. Let each exhale be a quiet release.
Close with Stillness: Pause. Stand still for a moment. Let your body remember what it feels like to be grounded, to be whole. Place one hand over your heart and one over your belly. Whisper to yourself, “I am here. I am held. I am home.”
