The streets of DC were deserted these past few glittering nights, save for a few people who, like us, were tired of being cooped up. We walked up and down the muffled blocks — walked in the middle of the street — ogling the drifts, which had swallowed cars, trees, houses whole. I’ve never seen the city so completely snowed in. It was very beautiful:
One night, we found a desk sitting in the snow and carried it home through the storm. You know how I am about sidewalk finds. As we shuffled along, shoulders hunched against the wind, we were assaulted by a little boy with snowballs — who was promptly berated by his embarrassed mother — and then growled at by a corgi in a pink sweater, whose belly lay on top of the snow, legs completely buried (“He needs to prove his masculinity more and more since we’ve started putting him in sweaters,” his owner explained), and finally laughed at by a shoveler: “Nice day for a move, huh?”
Sunday, the city broke out, gleefully, into the blue and white world. We ran for the National Mall, bundled up in makeshift winter gear. We carried rally signs, laundry baskets, flattened Amazon boxes for sledding down Capitol Hill, which Congress had graciously opened.
My friends and I hiked all the way to the Lincoln Memorial and back, passing snowkiters, cross-country skiers, snowballers, snowpeople, and many happy dogs. We also spotted this guy, who later ended up on National Geographic’s Instagram.
The government announced it was closed Monday, so last night we made s’mores in our fireplace and curled up to watch Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries for the third night in a row.