Threat Level White

This poetry moment in the parking lot is broken by a scream: "Come on, people!" yells their child Arthur, 8, standing next to his 10-year-old sister, Mattie. "Let's go!"

On down 13th Street NW, Kevin Zepeda, 17, and Julian Andrade, 18, scoop snow off an old gray Chevy truck that is missing a back window. They are hurling snowballs across the black street, cleared of snow. High arcs aimed at the window like in those movies when a suitor tries to wake a sleeping beauty or monster. They are trying to wake their friend. And they are talking about the snow. "It looks white. For real," Zepeda says.

"For real," says Andrade.

"It sounds quiet," Zepeda says. "Maybe because everybody is still sleeping."

"Ain't ev erybody sleeping."

Suddenly the images frozen under snow in the city seem to move. Did you see that? That stone bell tower, like the kind you would see in Europe, but you never noticed it before in D.C. -- you could have sworn it just swayed. You look over your shoulder, but ain't nobody else standing there to agree with you.

Or did the tower just seem to move because the clouds moving behind the tower are moving, traveling east like they are trying to cross the street, moving in the same direction as the man with the shovel and the broom on his shoulder out here in the snow just trying to make some money.

And you notice the snow on vines growing over steel bars and white garbage bags full of salt and you see a man flick white snow off his black Afro and you hear the Bee Gees' "Night Fever" blasting from a car: "Sweet city woman, she moves through the light, controlling my mind and my soul."

And you see a little girl in a teal coat carrying a snowball on top of her head, big as a melon. The girl is swaying the same way women in Haiti sway when they carry loads on their heads.

And you see a man walking in loafers. He is talking on a cell phone and he slips as he turns the corner. He almost falls, but then the sidewalk holds him up and he looks around to see if anyone saw him. Too cool for snow boots and too cool to fall and he doesn't break his stride and the cell phone never leaves his ear.

You see a church that looks like it's closed. Nobody has swept the steps. The sign says morning worship starts at 11 a.m., and it is 20 minutes after that. But you see only one set of footprints leading in and none coming out.

In Logan Circle, you see a little dog in a pink sweater, and you wonder why the sweater -- and more so, why pink. And you see a man snapping photos and you swear you could hear the camera's shutter a block away.

And then the ear picks up on a conversation. "Every time I go over there, I give you a high-five and a brother-man handshake and all you do is preach," a man in a black stocking cap is telling a man who is dragging behind him a red suitcase. "I drink alcohol and I'm going to go on drinking alcohol, and I'm going this way."

And the man with the red suitcase splits company. He steps into the street to wait for the light. But a motorist honks at him and the man with the red suitcase swears and gestures at the snow. "Man, this is [expletive] snow. Can't you see that? I can't stand on the sidewalk. Are you [expletive] crazy?"

As a matter of fact . . .