We arrived while the house was still quiet, the veil already hung by the window and the first coffee going cold on the sill. Mornings like this are the reason we keep the day slow — there is a whole story in the hour before anyone is dressed.
The morning
Amelia got ready in the room she grew up in. Her mother pinned the crown; her sister read out the running order twice and then abandoned it entirely. We stayed out of the way and let the light do most of the work.
We’d rather catch the ten quiet minutes than stage the perfect hour.
The ceremony
They married under the pines a little after four. A first look in the garden sent the nerves early and kept the day loose; two short readings, both funny; and a long table instead of a head table, so nobody sat apart.
We printed the whole day as a cotton-paper album a few weeks later. It is, we think, the best way to keep a morning like this one.
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