Athelantis, our son from Barbara's first marriage, was the best man at the ceremony on the Brooklyn Bridge. Winds blew about us. I feared the ring might drop between the slats onto the cars and trucks crossing the East River below us.
After he administered our marriage vows, Jim Proud pointed to the sun’s descent between the twin towers. His wife, Susan, wondered whether it was by design. Had the architects planned for bridge pedestrians to see the sun set precisely between the two towers every summer solstice? Was there a mystical design that linked the Brooklyn Bridge, the World Trade Center, Earth's orbit, and the shadows that fell at Stonehenge? No. It wasn't by design. The harmony of the moment chanced to happen on our wedding day in 1983.
Twenty seven years later, the World Trade towers have gone; but the bridge remains; and Barbara continues to wear the wedding ring I placed on her finger that June day.
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