Tonight, one of the most loving faces I know will fly in from Denver. When I see her red hair behind the wheel as she reaches the farm house, I might cry. 
Tomorrow, when the cute freckles and the infectious energy of another soul reach me as our nail appointment, I will laugh, loudly.
Then, when her voice and quickly-acquired Southern accent reach us as we set out flowers and attempt to tire out the Super Pup for the big day, I will quiet myself.
When his borrowed motorcycle and soft smile arrive, lady nearby, tomorrow evening, I will rest easier.
When her wild curls arrive on Saturday and she speaks wisdom and perspective, I will dance.
When her lean grace strolls onto the farm with bundles of blonde joy tumbling along, I will find strength in the longevity of friendship.
When his voice fills this farm with edged beauty, I will sing.
When her email wings its way across the Atlantic with the promise of prayer and handmade gift and exclamation points in just the right measure, I take hope.
When so many of the people I love come to this place and fill it with their spirits, when those who I could not invite send “likes” and cards and wishes full of love, when we laugh and cry together through time and in this space, I know what it is to be hemmed in by love.
What a perfect wedding gift.