I felt so blessed. Wedding after wedding, one weekend with them back-to-back. Running forward, running backward, climbing up, getting down to the floor, memory cards spent, filled, and zipped up safe in a wrist cuff for just that. Sweating. God the sweat! Emotional sweat. Nervous sweat. Exertion sweat. Photographer rhinoceros. And the constant humbling of being asked to capture a day with this much love, friendship, and optimism.
Meg and Nick were my last bride and groom of the season. I've been nostalgic for the sight of wee little flowergirls ever since. A week before the day I scouted around and remembered my Grampa Joe's yacht club just down the road, the island where he kept his beloved Pygargus. It wasn't always a yacht club. It was a prison island for pirates and that's not any sort of myth. The old jail is still there, used now as a rope loft. The cells, little slits for light, rock beds and iron bars gone quiet now with piles of canvas and cans of epoxy. I loved it in there as a kid. As a photographer, I liked the texture, literal and otherwise. Screw the Public Gardens and those damn swans.
I asked these two if they were up for it and Meg said something like I can go anywhere. I've got boots. When I saw that she meant it, I fell in love a little. Soft grey and cheery yellows, dreamy light, the ocean just there, and kissing, kissing, kissing.
Love to these two, and abundance. They've already got plenty of both.