by Noura Hemady on September 20, 2012

Tuesday night, I kicked off my shoes and ran through the sprinklers on the lawn of the Folger Shakespeare Library. We pulled our bikes up to the sidewalk and surveyed the premises for security guards. No one? OK, let’s go for it. We quickly cast off our shoes, damp from sweat and putrid from heat.

You can’t walk barefoot anywhere in DC. My own front yard has rusty nails that bear witness to botched construction projects and broken beer bottles carrying memories of getting too drunk on the front porch. There are rats and mosquitoes lurking in the shrubs, all waiting to lay siege to my feet.

The lawn we found, maybe a quarter acre, was a prairie by urban standards. The sprinklers presided over the most verdant, trash-free lawn this side of North Capital Street. It begged for bare feet. When life gives you an opportunity to frolic on a slice of grass wedged between buildings commemorating iconic literature, the American Constitution, and the halls of governance — you take it.

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Noura Hemady is a Washington, DC-based writer who should have more opinions on international development, but really just wants to talk about music, bikes, and DC culture.

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