Last night I dreamed that all my friends from Flickr came to town. You were there too. We all sat on the curb in front of the historical society with our cameras ready to photograph a Russian bride. A man with a top hat came out and introduced her. He had a ridiculous looking camera that he furiously wound up as he talked.
Then the bride came out. She was breathtaking. Her gown was cream and articulated with pearls and lace. Her lips were painted a bright red.
We snapped photos like mad. We clapped and cheered. Accordions groaned and cymbals crashed in the pale light. The air stank of beer. I took a picture of a midget child dancing with ballons.
And then they were gone.
It was all so clear. The doves taking flight in front of the bride. The dancing, the dress and the wedding party and the fall leaves scraping on the bricked street.