A perfect wedding

We went to a friend's wedding this past weekend. A poignantly intimate affair in a historic country mansion, in the heart of rural Vermont. The kind of wedding where only the closest friends and family were present. Where every single person there represented intimate stories and fond memories to the couple. To be honest I felt a bit of an intruder in this tearful setting, having only recently met the others present.

Still, I wouldn't have missed if for the world, having returned, as I did, with an intense myriad of emotions and memories.

Certain scenes from the weekend will always stay with me as flashes of memory.

Peeking out of the room window to a verdant view of Vermont countryside ablaze in all the hues of it's fall glory.

A long morning hike through the woods, and the moment of exhilaration when we suddenly broke into a clearing and realized we had reached the top of the mountain. Glancing up through the lattice network of leaves at patches of bright blue sky. Or down towards our feet at the velvety carpet of autumnal leaves. Gazing around us at the wooded forest, falling away down the mountainside. Silenced by the majesty of it all. At that moment, we could well have been the only people in the world.

A midnight walk through the fields, to gaze at the clustered stars, all jostling each other for sky space. And then a loose horse approached us in the dark, nuzzling up to us in much the same way we would have expected of a dog. I'll always remember that moment, standing there in the middle of the chilly field, in the overpowering darkness of the night, still in satin dress and stiletto sandals, gently petting and murmuring to the gorgeous horse.

But most strikingly of all, I was amazed by the wedding itself. The simple sophistication of it all. The sincerity of the vows, the intimacy of the guests, the tears of the groom. How warmly I was welcomed and included by everyone. The live jazz band, the late nights of wine, laughter, music and dancing. And of course, the midnight emergency kitchen raids.

During our drive up to Vermont, Delta and I had listed things in our lives that were Perfect. A song we'd heard. A food we'd tasted. Towards the end of the weekend, as celebrations were dying down, I turned back to Delta. "Now this is perfect," I indicated the wedding. He grinned. There could be no debate.