Mid-morning, misty November day,

a taxi ride from Leigh-on-Sea

to Rochford village,

the river and its estuary,

bird sanctuary and nesting grounds

the ebb and flow

on mud flats left by an outgoing tide.

In country lanes, hedges in white embroidery

where magpies forage, ivy embraces trees.

The world doesn’t stop, muted sounds

in the fog, aircraft taking off,

trains rumbling by.

The Vicar in flowing surplice waiting

in a draughty porch

while candles flicker under Norman vaults.

And the bride wears grey.