The blizzard closed Denver in the middle of the night.
I woke to a silence that was wrong — not the insulated quiet of forty-two stories but the deeper silence of a city that had stopped moving. The windows were white. Not the white of clouds or morning fog. The white of a Colorado blizzard that had crossed the divide overnight and buried the Front Range under the kind of snow that closes I-25 and shuts down RTD and makes CDOT put the gates down on I-70 and tells an entire state to sit still and wait.
