Like a bride and her maids, adorned in the handmade lace of God, the tiny grove of Aspen trees stand shimmering in the morning mist.
I watch you tremble, like a shy young virgin on her wedding night. A ray of sunshine illuminates your shimmering veil held in place by birds of sky blue.
Surrounded by your sisters, the breeze ruffles your petticoats in a joyous celebration of innocence and youth.
The wind whistles a cosmic love song, while the softly falling rain whispers the knowledge every young bride must know.
As I watch you drift away in the morning mist, I feel an empty place in my heart for beauty so exquisite, yet so fleeting.
By Jane Johnson