For the first time that day, I scuttled down the few steps outside of my apartment building. It was already 2:00 p.m., and I took the opportunity to stretch my arms and move my body. A typical April day in quarantined upstate New York, mid-forties and cloudy with sporadic rain showers. I took a seat on a wooden bench on the sidewalk. With the corner of my eye, I spotted a jar hugging the leg of the bench.