On a fine, early autumn Saturday the horse drawn carriage business downtown thrives. With a steady clip-clop a single horse pulls a visitor up the brick paved streets of a historic district. The sound changes as they turn unto the asphalt paved street at the corner.
Patrons come in all sizes – from the small children with parents, a young couple having a romantic experience, or an out-of-town visitor desiring a leisurely tour.
I approach the entrance to the hotel and see her. The bride stands in the carriage – other girls of the wedding party are near – not a male member in sight. She surveys the scene through her dark glasses, adjusts her skirt with her tattoo clad arm, and picks up a faux fur purse with the other. She is an originial bride.
A moment to pause, note the silver dress of a young bridesmaid, conserative clothing of a woman with her. But then the highlight.
The flower girl, clad in long white dress and a veil secured on her head draping to mid-back stands on the edge of the sidewalk. She rises on her toes, extends one hand and gently pats the horse.