On the morning of 17 March, I watched the route gather along the river: brass warming in side streets, banners unrolled against the wind, children learning the rhythm from older hands. The spectacle was bright, but its deeper pleasure was archival: a city remembering in public, one measured step at a time.
A procession can carry a page
The manuscript tradition offers a better cue than souvenir gloss. Its greens are deep, its gold is deliberate, and every border returns to the line it began with. That discipline changes the parade: ornament becomes memory, and movement becomes a way to keep the page alive.