Marching

Our brothers and sisters made a huge impact marching on Washington and New York and San Diego and Stonington and Alpine and Parkland and Hartford and LA and Anchorage and St. Paul and Chicago and Albuquerque and Austin and Portland and Atlanta and I wish I could just steal all of the New York Times' photos and post them because MY GOD. What a powerful day.

#enough. Enough already. For the love of humanity. Enough.

We didn't march. We hiked, though, and it was wonderful and lovely and inspiring and tune in next week for that.

And on Sunday we finally wrapped up this endless St. Patrick's Day season in good ol' SouthEastern Connecticut with the SECT-famous Mystic Irish Day Parade.

We ran into the lovely Elizabeth . . .

. . . and onward we watched, while the rest of them marched.


. . . the New London High School ROTC? Oh, they can march.

The bands were out . . .

. . . the military* was out . . .

(*apparently they were state cops)

. . . the bagpipes were out . . . 

. . . adorable children were out and about . . .

. . . even grown up adorable children were out and about.

The town was packed and despite the freezing degrees and the sub-arctic wind factor, the peeps loved it . . .

. . . including the bar denizens . . .

. . . and including us.

And then . . .

. . . here they came. What everybody was waiting for . . .

. . . the Clydesdales.

They were big and they were strong and powerful and lovely and onward they went.

Marching on.