A moonlit night preceded, as though a storm was brooding across the moors.
But a sound called, pulled from the bag and pipes of a lone player, sheltered 'neath a nigh, gnarled, oak tree.
And drew us to the chapel, through the next afternoon's mist and drizzle.
To the shelter of the stone passage.
The rain did nothing to dampen spirits,
as we were greeted by the wedding party.
And prepared to enter the sanctuary of the chapel.
Where, after the greeting of friends, the groom anxiously awaited the arrival of his bride, attended by bonnie lads and lassies.
Then, she came, like the morning mist gently and graciously drifts across a thirsty land.
All gave hearty approval to said vows.
And they left, as man and wife, before God.
Then there was the Cute Factor. What a doll!
We made it to the reception in time to have our choice of tables.
Preparing for fun.
He may still be playing.
Gorgeous! Our best wishes and prayers for these newlyweds.