My best friend and I are the only ones out on our street. It's early. We spot the dome— it sits there alone in the middle of our block. Its glistening ice crystals sparkle like fancy jewelry and taunt us with every blink. Our boots crunch through the white like two plump corduroy-covered thighs in motion. We crawl in for closer inspection. I sit on the hard, uneven hand-made bench. The cold quickly invades my backside. I stare up at the concave ceiling, marveling at this cocoon of packed snow. Suddenly, heckling shouts pierce through our sanctuary. The rightful owners rush to evict us. In panic, we bolt out of the tunnel— and run. The jeers of the angry clan of siblings fade away, ending our unauthorized igloo adventure.