A Wedding in the Promised Land

The Promised Land

On a warm December morning, the bride, her brother-in-law and I drive along the winding road into the forest to set up the ceremony space. It is a dark forest. A magic forest.

A thick canopy drapes light and shadows across the river. We step out of the air-conditioned car. We are silenced by a deafening cacophony; totally unprepared for thousands of cicadas shaking their tymbals. With wide eyes, I put my hands over my ears, and look to the bride, ‘Woah!’

We drive a further ten minutes into the forest, and the cicadas drum beat is stretched a little lighter on the airwaves. The river tumbles a flowing melody. We find our place and lay out the rugs and cushions and a few chairs for the older folk. It is time to await her bride and to witness their marriage by cicada’s song. Oh, what a glorious celebration it is.

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