White flower wreath

Brides in Gardens

            Some days the most beautiful things in the garden are brides, their gowns more stunning than bridal wreath spiraea, their lace more intricate than Queen Anne’s or white yarrow, their posture as erect as tulips and iris.  They seem as open as lilies, letting everything come to them.  What a day, when their white bouquets, thrown into the air, stick in the ground and grow into an all-white garden—budding, joyous and new.  
            Join them there.  For one moment, flowers are free of weeds.  Let the old people step gingerly on flagstones, hoping for solid footing.  The brides skip across the rocks as though playing a game.  They hold hands while their parents hold each other up.  Let them pass by, their scent sweet phlox and magnolia.  Attracted by scent and by beauty, you will do the bidding of the brides, as you might nurture flowers and expect nothing but hope in return.
            When brides walk, their white trains follow them, lifted and unsoiled.  Others stand with them, planted next to them as accent to their beauty.  Someone in black might read from a black book, instruct them through the symmetry of “We are” and “I do” and “We will” and pronounce them at the end, but they have already pronounced themselves, thrust themselves up and toward each other, abandoned and abounding.  Finally, they will smile, their teeth glowing.  They will walk in beauty even as they are beauty.  They will be white, fresh, fully bloomed and ready to pluck each other, so that they might leave the garden, carrying each other as they walk into their lives as themselves.









Statue standing on head

Star of Bethlehem flower


Daisy flower


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