Watercolour and linework tattoos on arms and ribs

You will not believe what Auntie Rosalind did with the paint tins. Before the vows she had the florist's boy carry three buckets of water out to the orchard wall, and she stood there in her good lilac coat flicking every colour the bridesmaids had left over from the marquee at the old stone until it looked like a sunset someone had dropped. Nobody stopped her. Mum said it was the most honest thing she had seen at a wedding in years.

Then the hummingbird. It was Gideon's idea, the groom's nephew, who had read somewhere that they only come back to a feeder that is always full. He mixed the sugar water himself, hung it on the hawthorn by the marquee, and sat on the bench with his chin on his fists. Two hours. I know because I counted between dances. At ten past five it came, a green flicker that hung over the trestle table as if it was deciding something, and for a moment the whole hall went quiet, even the DJ.

The bird was gone before anyone found their glasses, but the boy did not move. He just kept saying "told you" to nobody in particular, and when Rosalind came in with paint on her cheek he showed her the feeder, and she laughed so hard she had to sit on the step.

I am writing because it came back the next morning, and the morning after that, and Gideon has decided it is the same one. I have decided not to argue. Come up at Easter and see the wall before the rain takes the colour off. Bring your own brushes. Love, Hetty