The early-morning mist gave us the idea. It would have been lovely, dancing in those grey toned tree-lined landscapes. the light fading and brightening, the gentle humid air caressing our faces.
But it was too early, and people hadn't come for dancing. And so we hit up upon the idea of "Misty Church". It's a real winner, if you think about it. Mist dulls sound, so you get the silence you like. And, in a non-threatening environment, the lowered and variable visibility gives you fleeting glimpses of the numinous.
So we pumped St Bogwulf's Chapel full of dry ice, turned the Enya up to 11, and enjoyed our Misty Church. It was restful, stimulating and spiritual all at once.
To give us one corner with some variety, we lit a couple of hundred tea lights over by what used to be the East Wall. But we hadn't counted on Burton Dasset coming in to pick up his Big Book of Numbers.
Burton saw the shadowy figures flitting through the mist, took in the enormous amount of flame over at the East side, and assumed that the chapel had become a portal to the fiery realms. Screaming "this is what happens when you let these heathen in", he ran terrified into the woods.
He really should relax a bit. Maybe take things a bit less literally. It would make for a calmer life for him.