Vladislav & AnastasiaJuly 2026

It started with the tree. A lone oak at the edge of a hill, hay lying in rows, a valley below and a pale strip of water. A place like this needs nothing on top of it — so there was almost no decor: a few lengths of white cloth thrown over the branches, and a low armful of white flowers and greenery at the roots. The wind did the rest.

Hanging that cloth took us longer than the ceremony itself. Tie it, pull it tight, take it down, hang it again — about ten times over, until the fabric began to fly the way it should. None of that fuss shows in the finished frames: it looks as if it grew on the oak by itself.

A dress with bare shoulders and full sleeves, a string of pearls at her neck, a lace veil from the crown of her head all the way to the ground. For him — a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and light trousers, no jacket, no tie. The bouquet is small: pink, white, blue — as if gathered on the way up the hill.

The ceremony was held straight on the grass, with no arch and no chairs. The man in black with his text on a heavy card was the only dark spot among all the white. The cloth kept lifting and closing over the view — we had to wait for the wind to let it go. Then he pulled her close, and the fabric shut around the two of them.

After that they walked off on their own. A path through dry grass above the knee, a stone walkway, old fortress walls, and by evening an even white light with no shadows. The wind lifted the veil again; a petal hung in the air. By the oak he picked her up and spun her, and the skirt went round. Nothing else was needed that day.