A fall day treading winter.
Fun that was thought to only be a splinter.
Still a perfect day to parade.
We sat on the porch and waited.
We walked down the block and back, and waited.
We talked and laughed and waited.
Until finally my older cousin came to pick us up.
We drove and drove.
Singing along to the radio as we rode.
When we got out of the car it was chilly and cold.
We found a spot on a hill and watched the scene.
Ages in range from kids, old folks, and a few in their late teens.
Everyone excited to see the band play. The young boys whistling at the majorettes. Everyone yelling, "Hip hip hooray!"
Batons spinning, once, twice, three times high in the air. Hey look, at that mascot with the crazy hair! The delightful looks on everyone's faces. Wow, there goes a gigantic blue shoe with wide shoe laces.
Red, purple, white and blue. A little boy close by yelled, "Ah-Choo!" as the wind blew.
Everyone's cheeks rosy and red from the swift breeze. Old fashion cars rolling along slowly with ease.
The thud from the steps of marchers, the steady beat. The music's backbone made by their feet. Shiny, intricate, golden horns and bright silver flutes going toot toot toot!
Sipping French vanilla hot chocolate to escape the cold, a source of warmth I suppose. Although it didn't really help my glove-less fingertips. Everyone hopped up and moved their hips.
As we followed the seemingly continuous band up the block. But we had come to a stop. Turned, and in the car we hopped.
Time to go, it really was a great show. I looked out of my window at the simple houses we passed by and sighed a happy sigh.
Today was a good day, a perfect day to parade.
