Her wedding veil was long, white gauze dragging on the night time ground in the woodlands maw, like a floating streak of light in the dark. The limbs of the thick trees dripped with the tapping sound of tiny rain, and leaves and earth clung to the ends of it.
They’d put up a tattered blue tarp over the shoulders of two deep south oaks with moss like a shawl and firefly lights strung between its teeth to twinkle over the handfasting. It was late but the couples’ eyes were bright and watery when the green ribbons bound them.
The crowd consisted of tattoos, velvet, bells, vintage jeans, grinning people and alert, quiet german shepherds, cotton ball pomeranians that wouldn’t stop yipping. It was a small crowd of carnival folk, but it was all who loved them.
The grooms mother embraced the bride, Miranda, gave her sweaty kiss on both cheeks that smelt like fur and coty nuance, and told her to come to her trailer in a few minutes.
Gabriel, the groom, and his bearded and scruffy male friends who tried hard by wearing elaborately decorated ties over their work-soiled t-shirts raised the first of many green bottles of Jameson.
The fortune teller smiled and turned to her friend and said.
I wonder when his mother is sending her out for the ritual?
to be continued …