Yesterday morning, I stepped outside with Floyd and Maeve for the morning constitutional and heard mockingbirds imitating the sounds of fire sirens. There they were in the tops of as-yet leafless maples singing the song of the hour: something is very wrong. That didn't keep the dogs from doing what dogs do. That did keep me from slipping into a stark state of mind, though. Mockingbirds. Add to their modernist contribution to the ambiance the rattle of robins, the "hey, gang, we're here" cackle of crows, the "breakfast, dammit" of blue jays, and you have an inimitable early morning, early spring moment that just plain asks the daffodils and the forsythia to get on with it so we have some scenery in shades of splendid yellow to enjoy. Yellow. Mom's favorite color. The color of joy and hope and getting on with it. If she were here now waiting out the coronavirus quarantine/shelter-in-place/shut down, she'd say, "Find something to