I parked my car across from the State House, sighed, looked at the moon and tried to get close to God.
And sure enough, up the hill marched the ghosts of the 54th Massachusetts Regiment...wounds still fresh, sabers nicked and soiled, rifles still smoking and heads held high.
This spectral regiment of honor, silently tramped past me and stopped only to salute the very golden dome and then throw the very flag itself the crispest salute I'd ever seen.
And then the march resumed and they were gone.
Even those who came before us had a good night last night.
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