My daughter and I traveled to Washington, D.C., to take part in the Women's March on Saturday. As it turned out, we couldn't see or hear the rally, and the march did not march. And it couldn't have been more wonderful.

We flowed toward the rally point with hundreds of others, stopping when we hit the wall of early risers who had gotten there before us. This would be our spot for the next four hours, since we were quickly sealed in by those coming behind us.

Though we were not far from the stage, it became clear that we would not see or hear the activists, organizers and celebrities who had come to speak. Really, no Gloria? We would find out that night that Madonna had been there. We flew across the country for this 3-by-3-foot patch on the Washington Mall? We talked about going back to the hotel to watch the rally on TV, but when we turned around it was clear that was not going to happen.

As far as we could see, up to the Capitol and down to the Washington Monument, it was a sea of people — of diverse people, toddlers on shoulders, boys, girls, men, women. And gray hair. So much gray hair! Eyes that had seen this before.

People settled in to their little spots and talked, shared food and pointed out the handmade signs — some funny, many clever or snarky, but most lump-in-your-throat serious. Chants were started, songs were sung and stories were shared. At one point an extremely tall young man snaked by and a small, elderly woman grabbed his arm and beseeched: "Tell us what you can see from up there!" We laughed. He stopped, turned in a slow circle — like our own human periscope — and said in a serious voice: "It is a solid sea of people, as far as I can see, in all directions." His report was met with silence, even reverence, but was soon followed by a loud cheer and a few tears.

And at that moment I knew my daughter and I were exactly where we needed to be. In this spot on the Washington Mall, surrounded by these beautiful, terrified, determined, hopeful people. It wasn't about the speeches or even the march. Our job was simply to be there. Part of the body count. A body count across the country, across the world, too big to be ignored.

Cell service was spotty, but every once in a while someone would get an update on the crowd estimates: "A half a million here!" they would shout. Or "250,000 in Chicago!" and everyone would cheer. At about the time the rally was scheduled to end, word spread through the crowd that there would be no march. There literally was no place to go because there were just too many people. Slowly, like a human amoeba on the move, the crowd began to flow out in all directions, filling D.C. streets in peaceful, joyful celebration.

In the next few days, I will go online and listen to the speakers, their rally cries and calls to action. I know they will be thoughtful, empowering and righteously angry. I am grateful that they came, and I am in awe of the women who organized this event. But for those four hours, at our little spot, just being there, and being counted, was what was important and inspiration enough.

Lynn Fleming lives in Minneapolis.