Two Sets of Footprints

The ceremony was at four, the tide was out at six, and the two of them walked the length of the beach while the guests found their tables. I followed at a distance with a long lens, which is where I like to be.

The walk

Nobody asked them to hold hands, and nobody asked them to look at each other. The frame is the two of them, the wet sand and the light going soft behind the dunes. I shot forty frames on that walk and the album holds three.

A wedding on a beach is mostly wind. Veils go sideways, table plans go into the sea, the officiant shouts. What survives is the walk afterwards, when the wind drops with the light and the two people finally have nothing to do.

The footprints are the only thing in the picture that will not be there tomorrow.

Two cameras, one lens each

For weddings I carry two bodies and no bag: a 35 on one, an 85 on the other. The 35 does the room, the 85 does the distance, and swapping lenses in sand is how you end a camera. On the beach I used the 85 all evening and never got closer than the towels.