In the Summertime, D.C. is muggy and humid – almost like wading through an invisible swimming pool above the baked pavement. Only at night does it cool off enough to be nearly perfect. The air loses some of its weight just as the light hits its magic hour.

My younger brother, Forrest, and I had just left a frisbee game on the other side of the city. It’s rare that I make it down to Capitol Hill – I don’t work in government and much of what remains is focused on tourism. As we crossed the bridge back into DC and started our way west on Pennsylvania Avenue, that magic light was just hitting the Capitol Building.

We headed towards it, biking into the recently renovated courtyard on the east side of the building. Forrest was running wide arcs on his bike, taking advantage of the evening’s absence of tourists. The light dimmed and we glided north to catch the Washington Monument, wrapped in a scaffolding bandage after last year’s earthquake, shining a mile away.