The isle

The room swims in inviting pinks, contrasting with the regal green stems and leaves of white roses, leaving room for bodies to fill the spaces between plants. Leaves and flowers hang from anything that will provide a foundation for draping, even the breast pockets of the attendees. A woman and man walk premeditatedly down the carpeted aisle of this imitation greenhouse, intertwined arm in arm. An onlooker’s wide smile pierces through the onlooking crowd. The mouth stretched unnaturally large hovers above the creamy pearl necklace resting on her collarbone. It seems in disharmony with the smile of the man walking arm in arm through the crowd with the bride. His smile is of reserve, tight, as if to prevent it unfurling to the size of an open parasol.  As they walk, lit candles and bouquets; shades of ivory, of cream, of lavender; smiling eyes and mouths are glimpsed in the intervals in between the couple’s steps.  Oversized profiles of the guest are seen in the foreground and smaller obscured smiling faces in the background of the intimate hall. As the couple approaches where the carpet and candles mark a close, all the onlookers’ faces turn to the front, and with a wave of hand, they lower in unison.