Someone didn’t get the memo to Nature to shelter in place. She’s just out there. Gallivanting around. Heaving flowers this way and blossoms that. And the birds. What’s up with that? Should they not be Nesting in Place? Here are a few random field reports.

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It looks like the violets have returned from wherever violets over-winter. They are small, but distinctive. Kind of like the Pekinese of the front yard. Meanwhile, out on the deck the cardinals are just as prevalent as the violets. Flitting about like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe for us. Not for them, it looks like.

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Meanwhile, the magnolia trees. This one below was so pretty a few days ago, I stopped my car to snap its intense blossom-ness. That’s probably not a word. And then, even more magnolias down the street. At least they were Blossoming in Place.

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And then I turn my back, winter comes. A new year. A killer virus roams the Earth. Quarantine. And me and the cat head out on to the deck to air out our sheltered-in-place butts. (Hers is mondo fuzzy, by the way.) And I turn around and she’s having a Fresh Chives Salad. Like, what’s are the chives doing here? It’s March. These guys have apparently been hanging out in my raised bed deck container ALL winter from last year. Just waiting, I guess, for a little sunshine and non-freezy weather. Sorry about the cat, you chives.

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And the squirrels. If you live in or near the woods and have more than one tree in your backyard, you know one thing about the Squirrel People. They are Nature’s Cirque du Soleil troupe of the Branches. I’ve been contemplating trying to do their acrobatics justice in a more ambitious video, even if a part of me, pulls back with raised eyebrows and remonstrates: “But, they’re squirrels …”

But their, like, amazingly bold, scampering out to the thinnest of branches when 200 feet off the ground. And then … no, buddy, you’re not really gonna attempt that leap are you? Yes, of course, you are. Without hesitation. Bam! They’ve leapt to an equally thin branch two yards away, casting all caution to the wind. Confident, without a second thought, they can cross the divide.

There’s something to be learned from squirrels 200 feet off the ground.

I’m not quite sure what it is yet, though.

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Then, there are the forsythia bushes (a word almost as fun to say as they are to see in full bloom). They’re like the yellow Crayola of the natural world. (Did you know that yellow lies between red and green. And if you mix red and green Crayola crayons when you’ve got your Crayola box out, you’ll get a sorta yellow hue? You would know that if you were a digression-holic, Googlehead like me.)

But maybe your stressed-out, quarantined self just needs 12 seconds of yellow-as-gold forsythia bushes, waving their branches like the crowd at a Bruce Springsteen concert, waving a sea of hands in rhythm to the boss singing an encore of “Glory Days.” If so, here you go:

PS: Here’s the official video of “Glory Days,” if you could use that now, too.

PSS: This same forsythia bush from down the street starred for a few seconds in the “Songs of Comfort, Songs of Home” music video a few posts back, featuring a 2010 performance by The Clementines of “West Virginia Medley,” which showcases Hazel Dickens’ great tune “West Virginia, My Home.”

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And over in the neighbor’s yard? Every single one of these branches below is budding out. Just right out there, in plain air. But Nature, man, is all like: ‘”Eff you, humans. I’m gonna do what I do. Oh, and did you know, you were part of my warp and weave, too? Get your act together or else.”

She didn’t really say that.

I frankly don’t know what she’s saying, these days.

But it’s something.

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PS: Be safe. Stay home. Be well. Or as well as you be. Look out for each other.