A parade seems to be one of those institutions that suddenly makes everything seem timeless.

The bands. The kids.  The old cars.  Little Miss this and Grand Champion that.  Yelling from the sidewalk to a friend you haven’t seen in ages.  (Or maybe that last part is just me.)

Smiling and waving and waiting for the horses.  The horses are always last, for obvious reasons.  The clip clop of horseshoes on pavement transports me to my childhood when I would wave from the front seat of my Uncle Jim’s wagon as my cousins road their horses along side us.