Letters from the Catskills: An Invitation to Linger
To those seeking pause, presence, and the long way home:
This summer, I went to the woods. Alone, mostly. Not to escape, but to return.
I returned to the shape of my breath. The weight of my own questions. The rhythm of days without signal or speed. I lingered by creeks and covered bridges, danced with hummingbirds and fireflies, and listened to the wind speak through the trees. I learned how to live with less noise, more soul. More slowness. More me.
This series of vignettes is a gathering of small truths—moments of stillness, rootedness, joy, and quiet transformation. I wrote these pieces in reflection of my time in the Catskills, but more deeply, as love notes to what it means to come back to your own soul skin. The part of you that’s been waiting to exhale. The part of you that remembers how to linger. How to listen. How to be here, fully.
These are letters from the sacred hush between chapters, from the space between becoming and being. A collection of quiet thresholds, soft mornings, creekside revelations, and porchside prayers. They are a return, an invitation, a remembering.
These stories are not linear. Like a winding trail through the woods, they loop and return and rise and rest. You may read them in any order. All you need to bring is your breath, and a willingness to feel.
Come sit with me in the hush between the trees. Let’s remember what it means to belong to ourselves.
In stillness,
Gabrielle
