There isn’t a first dance, but there’s a first harmony. You all sing together, an 80s synth pop dream come to life. Colors bursting, windows down, you high-tail it to the sushi joint.

When you see her, that bouquet matching her lips, matching her eyes, matching the the pale pink of her shoes, you wonder if she was born with petals in her hands.

The trees here in Rindge started a cautious turn last week, but by the weekend they’ve rallied deep into it. This is New Hampshire distilled to its purest form.

The music fades so their song can begin. This is the first silent moment. It feels just like that severed second between the words “you may kiss-”, and the passion between their scrunched up faces.

It’s snowing outside the cabin, the sort of snow that cloaks the woods in silence. It’s just the two of them inside.

They’re different, not in a black and white kind of way, but in a rainbow trout versus the Louvre kind of way.

Howls from the curved throats of groomsmen cheer on the couple as they trace their steps back down the aisle.