So strange.
For 364 days out of the year the cenotaph is the cenotaph. 
The young pay it little heed. The remainder of us 
walk by occasionally raising our eyes.

On the 365th day, however, an extraordinary change takes place, 
an inexplicable energy rises and softly envelops the corner. 
If you stand still for several seconds in front of the wreaths, 
before the carved and cast figures gazing skyward, you feel it. 
You feel the energy drawing you up towards the heavens.

In some small way your head spins and you grow dizzy as you 
sense the pain, the loss, the fading memories in the shadows of the mind.

Finally, you move along self-consciously  when someone slips 
in behind you to  remember a fallen comrade.