Red and White Balloons

The canon explodes, leaving a trail of rotten eggs.  Stay between the white and red balloons, I tell myself.  Yelling and whistling as we make our way forward, jostling for spots.  Moving faster as we move away from the canon.  Men in camo line the streets.  Moving through the early morning mist.  The spires of the cathedral peak above the clouds.  Lush dew covered woodland.  Silence except the deep inhalations and exhalations.  The sun fighting through the clouds at the top.  Drums beating or is that my heart?  Ghosts lead the way.  I've lost sight of the red and white balloons.  Roaring voices greet us as we leave the forest, brownstones become our fencing.  The sun washes away the mist.  The river moves swiftly on my right, under the bridge, take me with you.  My stomach grumbles, time to refuel.  Along the rows of cherry trees.  More men in camo, one is yelling through a megaphone.  The shade of the trees provides relief from the beating sun.  Half way.  The quiet of the trees gives away to the mall.  Someone turned the volume from minimum to maximum.  Past the memorials and museums, down and around.  Out of the shade of the Smithsonian to the exposed cement.  Water? Where is the water?  Men and women in camo yell, WATER.  Paper cups litter the streets.  More water makes it onto my shirt than in my mouth.  I am so very tired.  "The end is near, have a beer," I wish.  OH! gummi bears!  I am pushed harder, a gel pack reflects the late morning sun.  This feels longer than a mile, I think they measured it wrong.  More men in camo.  Just keep moving.  Oh god, when will this end?  The graffiti sign, YES! So many people yelling, whistling, clapping.  I must beat the red and white balloons.