The bride is a girl I've known most of my life. She used to hide behind her mother's skirt and it frustrated me because I wanted to play with her. Over the years, she grew into probably the loveliest girl I know; sweetly nervous but deservedly happy, the most gorgeous blue eyes and an ever present smile.
They've been together for 8 years, but I haven't met the groom many times. I've been busy living my city life and they live on the farm where my father was raised. I have met him enough times to feel that I know him and to be pleased that the happiness of such a good friend is safe in his hands, and that the house which holds so many treasured memories of my grandparents is safe on his farm. He speaks openly and he laughs often.
The day dawned darkly, clouds and spits of rain threatened from the skies, but lacked the will to stay for long and eventually retreated to make way for yellow light and fresh wind. We skuttled around in the bathroom, complaining about our make up skills, telling the boys if they wanted the shower they should have returned from golf sooner, giggling at each other's eyeliner lamentations. The bus was leaving at three so we jumped in the car with five minutes to spare and drove down the road, hopped on board, greeted our fellow guests and negotiated bag space with our better prepared mothers.
The churchyard was full of people I once knew but no longer recognised; I snuck quiet words with those who knew better and greeted old enemies like old friends, and old friends like new ones. We milled around, sunglasses and lipstick and kisses on the cheek until finally we were led inside and hushed by the organ.
Her dress was white, her tanned skin brushed by delicate lace and her glowing face framed by a high collar. A line of buttons down her back lay patiently waiting for the night's deep hours, when they would yield to the fingertips of her new husband. There was a train and I couldn't help but smile a tearily happy smile as it flowed around her all the way to the alter.
A hymn, prayers, some readings, but mostly just two happy people at the front of the church trying to say their vows loud enough for us to hear. We knew it was only really important that they were heard close, and that they came from somewhere beyond the voice. A bashful kiss, two signatures, hands clasped together and the endless click of cameras before they left the chapel. We followed to find the new wife standing in the courtyard greeting and hugging and kissing and looking delighted, relieved, beautiful. Her husband, with his dark hair winding around the breeze the way her dress wound around my feet, smiled his genuine, wide smile and stood by her.
A bus took us to a nearby winery and we drank the stars, champagne bubbles living up to their creator's mythical exclamation. My sister was across the room, radiant in her laughter and her achingly tender pose. My mother was close behind me and I realised she looks younger every time I see her - kids out of the nest she is enjoying life. I watched her dance with my father after the meal and the speeches were done and they spun their way around the floor, as enthusiastically as the 20 year olds and still glowing in each other's company as much as the day's newlyweds. I took dad's hand after their dances were done and we jived, dad's hands still the strongest and most reliable of any man I've known. Flung out of breath, we retired to the sideline and rested our way through the evening until midnight hit, the pumpkin coach appeared in the guise of a blue and white bus, and we wended our way through the dark raods of one of my favourite parts of the earth. In my bedroom, I dove under soft white sheets and dreamed my way towards the sunlight.
It wasn't my day, but it was a day in my life that I will forever remember fondly.
They've been together for 8 years, but I haven't met the groom many times. I've been busy living my city life and they live on the farm where my father was raised. I have met him enough times to feel that I know him and to be pleased that the happiness of such a good friend is safe in his hands, and that the house which holds so many treasured memories of my grandparents is safe on his farm. He speaks openly and he laughs often.
The day dawned darkly, clouds and spits of rain threatened from the skies, but lacked the will to stay for long and eventually retreated to make way for yellow light and fresh wind. We skuttled around in the bathroom, complaining about our make up skills, telling the boys if they wanted the shower they should have returned from golf sooner, giggling at each other's eyeliner lamentations. The bus was leaving at three so we jumped in the car with five minutes to spare and drove down the road, hopped on board, greeted our fellow guests and negotiated bag space with our better prepared mothers.
The churchyard was full of people I once knew but no longer recognised; I snuck quiet words with those who knew better and greeted old enemies like old friends, and old friends like new ones. We milled around, sunglasses and lipstick and kisses on the cheek until finally we were led inside and hushed by the organ.
Her dress was white, her tanned skin brushed by delicate lace and her glowing face framed by a high collar. A line of buttons down her back lay patiently waiting for the night's deep hours, when they would yield to the fingertips of her new husband. There was a train and I couldn't help but smile a tearily happy smile as it flowed around her all the way to the alter.
A hymn, prayers, some readings, but mostly just two happy people at the front of the church trying to say their vows loud enough for us to hear. We knew it was only really important that they were heard close, and that they came from somewhere beyond the voice. A bashful kiss, two signatures, hands clasped together and the endless click of cameras before they left the chapel. We followed to find the new wife standing in the courtyard greeting and hugging and kissing and looking delighted, relieved, beautiful. Her husband, with his dark hair winding around the breeze the way her dress wound around my feet, smiled his genuine, wide smile and stood by her.
A bus took us to a nearby winery and we drank the stars, champagne bubbles living up to their creator's mythical exclamation. My sister was across the room, radiant in her laughter and her achingly tender pose. My mother was close behind me and I realised she looks younger every time I see her - kids out of the nest she is enjoying life. I watched her dance with my father after the meal and the speeches were done and they spun their way around the floor, as enthusiastically as the 20 year olds and still glowing in each other's company as much as the day's newlyweds. I took dad's hand after their dances were done and we jived, dad's hands still the strongest and most reliable of any man I've known. Flung out of breath, we retired to the sideline and rested our way through the evening until midnight hit, the pumpkin coach appeared in the guise of a blue and white bus, and we wended our way through the dark raods of one of my favourite parts of the earth. In my bedroom, I dove under soft white sheets and dreamed my way towards the sunlight.
It wasn't my day, but it was a day in my life that I will forever remember fondly.
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