Jonathan had made peace with the world some time ago. Now he moved through it as a ghost through some ramshackle pile, asking for little, expecting less, and noticed only by those who really wanted to see him.
Phyllida had not grown so tired. As the years thickened her she reached not only upwards but into the world, a generous oak to Jonathan’s willow.
They met on a bus at two in the morning and married three weeks later in a church on a hill, by an orchard, beneath the biggest sky the world had seen in all its years.