There is nothing quite like the trees of the cherry blossoms, the sakura, in bloom in Washington in spring. Or the magnolias, their branches heavy with pink and white flowers that fall and carpet the sidewalk.
On a normal sunny spring day, there would be thousands at any given moment on the vast National Mall, with the Capitol at one end and the Lincoln Memorial at the other, and in between the giant obelisk of the Washington Monument cleaving the blue sky.
These days, there are barely 200 people across the vast green. Museums nearby are closed. Hotels are closed or running almost empty and soon to close.
The number of jets that bank over the high rises of Arlington on the horizon and make their approach to Reagan International Airport, has been reduced; airlines are threatened with bankruptcy within two or three months. The federal government is going to help keep them going, President Donald Trump has pledged.
The row of food trucks that cater to hungry tourists is gone. But I found Sam Jun, the only souvenir vendor left around mid-afternoon, who told me he had not seen a customer all day. Normally, by that time, he would have had about two dozen, buying Federal Bureau of Investigation T-shirts and Make America Great Again caps. "No one," he responded ruefully.
Some kilometres away in upscale Georgetown, the sidewalks of M Street - the window-shopping, fine dining strip a block from the Potomac River - are virtually deserted. A few restaurants remain open, but are allowed to only offer takeouts.
A few cars and an occasional cyclist swish up and down. The few figures on the street appear mostly in ones or twos. Some walk dogs, who are said to be happy their human friends are at home all the time.
On my phone, I get pictures from friends around the US. From San Francisco's Powell Street to the hip Mission District with its murals and Mexican taquerias, streets have emptied and bars and restaurants closed. In just days, social distancing has turned into lockdown.
On WhatsApp, I get messages from an emergency room doctor in Seattle who has been reusing masks and ordering personal protection equipment from eBay because the hospitals do not have enough. He tells me of an intensive care unit (ICU) doctor who has found himself in ICU now, breathing through a ventilator. Their fear, he tells me, is that the US will end up like Italy, where the virus is like a tsunami.
The gig economy is seeing its meagre cash dry up. US jobless claims increased by 70,000 to 281,000 for the week ending March 14; in just a week's time, jobless claims could explode to a record 2.25 million, the largest increase in initial jobless claims and the highest level on record, said Goldman Sachs.
Then, there is the grief, worry and anxiety. Families with parents or grandparents in old-age communities which they cannot visit, or living alone halfway across the US, at times without adequate supplies.
A cloud is moving across the country. Millions of those working in the hospitality industry are now staring at the possibility of layoffs as hotels, bars and restaurants close.
"Easily half of my business is gone," Mr Ken Kurita, owner of Lil Spot Cafe in San Francisco's Mission District, told me via a friend's phone. "One employee is not working at all and I've had to suspend hours of my other. I'm having him work tomorrow just so he has income.
"I'm seeing this as long term, maybe not this intense for months, but realistically, I don't know if a business this size will survive."
In Washington DC, the normally exuberant 14th Street in the evenings, with its overflowing oyster bars and restaurants spilling chatter and music and laughter onto the busy sidewalk, has gone dark. Friends are having to take unaccustomed decisions. To meet or not to meet? Meet in the park? Two metres apart? A whole new behaviour is being learnt.
Two friends sat across from each other at a big table in the capital's Kalorama Park last week. One, an American, had just flown back from a wedding in Miami; the other, British, was flying back to London after meetings in Washington. They were old friends, but did not hug.
