Mozart touched Sophia softly, guiding her toward the alter. The small of her bare, fine back caught a brief chill, and she quivered. It was a sunny day, but a cool one–breezy. The silver maples waved their arms, leaves glittering like starlight. She breathed deeply the scent of white roses adorning her hair, flirting with bursting currents of air, fresh–meadow pure. One hand grasped a bouquet of deep violet and pastel yellow, and with the other she held her abundant skirts above the tall grass, sweet green; she high stepped naked-footed like a show horse. Her toenails were painted baby pink.
Sophia landed at the alter in euphoria; at the alter, Sophia met Ambrosia beneath the pale canvas canopy.
And they both said, “I do.”