Letters from the Catskills: The Invitation to Return

Dear Reader,

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. For walking with me through rain and sunlight. For sitting beside creeks and covered bridges. For listening to crickets, to hummingbirds, to your own heartbeat.

What began as solitude became communion—with the land, with memory, with joy, with grief, and with a deeper knowing of myself. In these still places, I remembered that presence is not passive. It’s a choice. A radical act. And so is leaving.

My final week in the Catskills, I didn’t rush. I paid attention. I let myself be fully where I was, and because of that, I carry this season forward in my bones. I know now that peace doesn’t come from detaching—it comes from deepening. From tending to the sacred in ordinary things.

As you step back into your own rhythms, I hope you find places that remind you of yourself. I hope you linger. I hope you let joy interrupt you. And I hope you remember that you don’t have to run away to return—you can come home to yourself anywhere.

Here’s to wild roots, quiet strength, and your own beautiful becoming.

In stillness, gratitude and grace,
Gabrielle

P.S. For links to each letter, see here.