“What a lovely thing a rose is!”
Arthur Conan Doyle
The Afternoon was clear and pure. It was the dawn-day of August after all.
The Sea was foam-green and sun-kissed. Boats bobbed and sailed gaily among playful crests.
The Breeze was but a soft suggestion. Quietly cool and gently embracing all.
Wood-vaulted, rough-hewn church commanded a glittering scene overlooking some great house. The “OCEAN HOUSE”. It was a good day for all.
Then came the playful butterfly procession; tall and lazily swarming. Announcing an arrival. The arrival of good friends, the close fans of the two. The two guests of honor. Each soon to be wed within the soft shadows of the chapel canopy of cedar shakes and other perfumed woods. There ‘a memory was made’.
It was the Rose, however. It was the Rose that stole the whole summertime show. The Rose commanded the visual and olfactory attention of even the least observant member of the lucky cadre of adoring guests and family assembled to celebrate the betrothed.
The Rose: its sweetness bathed the eye and tickled the nare. Its pale essence a pleasure to behold.
To the initiated. To the wise. The Rose is forever the symbol of gracious gestures of romance as well as signal statements of historical significance.
The Rose. A lovely harbinger of another unique day of days. A day graced by the most regal and meaningful of Nature’s flowers. A day of romance and significance.
It was the noble Rose that dominated this day. Its evanescence inapposite to the promise of long and happy lives spent together. Behold… WEDDING DAY AT WATCH HILL.