The leaves are gradually turning golden. I watch as the breeze lightly disturbs the branches, making the drying leaves rustle. It is only September, but already the Autumn is here.
A lone piper stands to attention in the sunshine, his brightly coloured plaid moving with the breeze. The sound of his bagpipes drifts across the old churchyard as guests begin to assemble. The men are in morning dress today – an unusual sight in this part of the world where the kilt is practically compulsory for all occasions. The female guests are more exotically clad in many different hues, looking like birds of paradise in their colourful outfits topped with feathered and brightly plumed headgear.
As I sit in a coffee shop opposite the Cathedral, I listen to the murmur of local voices as I linger over my sandwich and enjoy a strong cup of good coffee. At a table close by, a group of women have come to the conclusion that the wedding couple cannot be locals – an accurate guess I imagine, given the decidedly un-Scottish attire of the male guests. The ladies continue to discuss whether there might be a local family connection, and surmise that there is not since they have not recognised any of the guests.
There is a flurry of excitement outside as a beribboned limousine arrives. She’s here! There is silence in the coffee shop as all eyes turn to the large front window to watch the bride emerge from the car, the many fragile layers of her gown unfolding like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. She looks so young, so nervous, so heart-stoppingly beautiful. As her attendants bend to rearrange her dress in preparation for the photographs, the ladies who lunch begin discussing her dress, deciding whether they prefer it to the one worn by last week’s bride. The general consensus seems to be that this week’s bride is the winner, although disapproval is expressed because of the Sassenach attire worn by the gentlemen in attendance.
The photographer seems to take an age, arranging and rearranging the bride and her maids in various poses before consenting to the start of the ceremony.The piper strikes up with Highland Cathedral, the young bride takes her father’s arm and, squaring her shoulders, enters the ancient building to begin her new life.
The ladies in the coffee shop are silent amongst their own thoughts for a few moments before the soft murmur of chatter resumes and they begin to discuss the scandalous antics of one of their neighbours. I finish my coffee, pay my bill and step out into the crisp autumn sunshine.
No comments:
Post a Comment