The Man Under the tree is real!

 

He found me!

Not as a whirlwind or a charming distraction.

Not with promises or pressure.

He simply came — packed up his life, drove over 600km, and sat beside me… in his own chair, next to mine.

No expectations.

Just presence.

And somehow, that meant everything.

I kept thinking about the story we once wrote — about the man under the tree. A soft, imagined figure who might one day show up without noise or chaos.

Just a man. A kind soul.

Someone who listens. Someone who sees.

Well… he came.

And now? He’s right here. Sitting beside me in the firelight.

Holding my hand, not to claim me — but to simply share the moment.

We walk beside each other, not in front or behind.

He doesn’t ask me to change my pace. He matches it.

We eat ice cream together like children at a roadside stop — him smiling at me like the sweetest flavour he’s tasted is this connection.

We think alike. Often without words.

The other night, I asked him to listen to my favourite song… and it was the very song he had been thinking of, too. Not a coincidence. A whisper from something greater.

This isn’t infatuation.

This is something older. Something known.

We’ve both lived through grief.

He lost a daughter.

I lost a grandson.

We don’t need to explain the ache — we feel it.

We honour it in silence, in softness, in space.

There is comfort in simply being beside someone who knows.

We’re both travellers — I in my caravan, he in his camper van.

No fixed plan. No ticking clock. Just an unspoken agreement to go forward… together.

Yes, it’s early days.

But when something is right, it doesn’t have to shout.

It just settles in — like a deep breath after a long, hard season.

And maybe… just maybe… our angels had something to do with this.

His daughter. My grandson.

Two bright souls who left us too soon — and perhaps found each other in the beyond, smiled, and said: “They’ll be good to each other. Let’s guide them together.”

So we live moment by moment, day by day.

No rush. No pressure.

Just two people choosing to be here, fully, gently, and with hearts wide open.

This time…

I’m not afraid.

This time… I feel found.