As he walked the streets of the small community by the edge of the forest he would say hello to every neighbor. Over the seasons the little postman had become rather fond of the uniqueness of each of the neighbors and their own individualities that made them who he knew them to be. Some were soft-spoken, and often only offered tentative waves from their gardens, while others leaned out their windows ready to shout out their greetings.

He delivered all sorts of mail and packages. Some were remarkable because of their scale, while others were more subtle with barely any exterior hints as to what they might contain. The neighbors were always appreciative of the little postman’s diligence and trusted him with all of their written words that needed ferrying about.

It was perhaps a strange existence when viewed from outside of his lens. The little postman was in the rare position of knowing a great deal about the people he visited – when someone’s birthday was approaching, what great travels they were embarking upon, and when a family grew in numbers. He would watch the busy lives of the neighborhood and cherish this special place he saw as an extension of his home.

In his free time, the little postman carried on in much the same way. Quietly. In his home, he had a collection of postcards. Gifts from the neighbors when they were off on their own adventures. Sometimes he would sit in front of his postcard wall and simply imagine what could and might have been. 

One of his favored activities was to climb up into the heart of his favorite tree. From there he could sit and watch the world around him. He could observe the woodland creatures as they cautiously ventured out, lightly padding over the moss. He could watch the way the sun filtered through the leaves, creating warm speckles across the weathered bark of his perch. And if he looked and listened carefully, he could hear the hum of the neighbors as they went about their lives. 

Rain or shine the little postman’s spirits were seldom dampened because he was so deeply rooted in the life he had settled into. 

One rainy day, the little postman, being rather soaked through from his mail deliveries, found himself wrapped up in his quilt feeling quite warm and cozy. The weighty warmth of sleep gently closed his eyes as he sank deeper into his chair. Nothing would stir our tired little friend until the fingers of the morning’s sun tapped upon his forehead. And thus, the morning began like all the others before it. The postman could smell the remnants of the previous night’s rain, earthy and deep. A specific sense of stillness was settled upon this beginning.

A quick stretch, breakfast, and out the door he went. With his morning hello caught, before it escaped his mouth, he stopped. Pausing in a way he had never done before. His favorite tree was gone, swept away with no warning and without a goodbye. Where his planted friend had once stood only a pile of upturned dirt remained. 

The little postman couldn’t figure out what to do with all the things that he was feeling. It was all so uncomfortable and foreign to him. He felt unable to move forward. Uncertain of what else to do, he began his mail route as he would have were it any other day. The neighbors, even though the change was sleight, noticed that something was different about their little postman. 

The little postman on the other hand, wanted to curl up and be swallowed but what he could only describe as a starless sky. He wondered how he was going to move forward. He understood his daily steps but they had lost their luster. He yearned for his friend, his place of rest, and the world that had felt unique to just him. 

The little postman knew that the neighbors sensed something was amiss and he felt guilty about that. He wanted to explain, but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t think they would understand and he was a little fearful that in sharing his sadness that it would somehow diminish it. His grief felt precious to him and he was holding on to it dearly.

Some time passed, feeling slower, crawling at a pace that belied the vibrancy of the world around the little postman. This incongruence perplexed him. Grief was still deeply buried in his heart, and he began to wonder if that would ever change. 

One day, one of the neighbors lingered a moment when the little postman passed by. The little postman paused briefly, and the neighbor, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, simply asked him how he was doing. Suddenly, the little postman was filled with so many emotions. His eyes filled with tears and he cried. And the neighbor sat with him for as long as it took. 

Once he returned home, he quickly settled down at his desk with a focus he hadn’t felt in some time. He created, which was new for him, crafting a piece of his story. The little postman designed a stamp that he neatly pressed to a small cream-colored notecards. Satisfied with his work, he went to bed with a distinct sense of purpose.

When the morning came, the little postman grabbed his bag and ran out the door, excited to put his plan into motion. By the time he neared the first neighbor’s home a little nervousness crept into his mind. Before he thought about it any further he slipped his card through the mailslot and scurried off to the next neighbor. 

At the end of the day, the neighbors had all received the little postman’s card. A simple card, with a small illustration of the tree that the postman held so dearly in his heart. And while perhaps they didn’t understand all of what it meant, it allowed them a glimpse into his world. 

The next day a few more of the neighbors took a pause in their lives to say hello to the little postman. And over time they began to know each other a small bit more. This change was gradual for everyone’s lives had their own rhythms to it, a pattern not so easily shifted. But the little postman continued to send his own notices every so often. He still missed his tree and that would not quickly change. He was also discovering a new sense of community with the neighbors and in fact, was coming to see them as his neighbors. For he was a part of this community and would continue to grow himself as well as help his whole neighborhood flourish.