We are closed, canceled, hunkered down, self isolating. And yet the streets of my neighborhood are more alive than ever. These are two very different ways that human nature is playing out in the coronavirus pandemic.

Riverside Heights, just northwest of downtown Tampa, was already a vibrant place before the coronavirus changed life as we know it. The century-old neighborhood of bungalows, Mediterraneans and cottages has for decades drawn a mix of young people and small families who like being close to downtown and West Shore. The Riverwalk is only a few minutes’ run, and though the neighborhood has no sidewalks, for reasons nobody has ever explained, the narrow streets are crowded with runners and cyclists, with parents pushing strollers, with leashed dogs tugging toward the Hillsborough River under blocks of oak canopy.

But in the past week - as schoolchildren were told to stay home, as workers were told to go home and as life as usual shut down for the foreseeable future - these streets have become a rolling parade from morning to night, another measure of time suspended, a wheel of strangers in motion brought together as neighbors by COVID-19.

There’s no mystery here, of course. With people stuck at home, schools and offices closed and a combination of fear and confusion killing the restaurant trade, it only makes sense that outdoors would become the new hangout. Many want to avoid going nuts by doing something healthy. Others are finding an excuse to tackle some chores. A guy down the street broke out the lawn mower Thursday. First time for everything.

But there’s more to it than that. The crowds walking laps around Plymouth Park want to stop and chat. Neighbors carry on from across the street. People haven’t broken out so many bikes since Christmas. Rather than zoom by on scooters, neighbors are filibustering on the streets, confusing their dogs with a second and third walk and making eye contact on their rounds to dial people in. It’s like those unsettling days when a hurricane’s approaching. If your neighbor seems fine, you are, too.

Mayor, if you’ve gotten this far, don’t worry or send out the cops. Social distancing is alive and well in this corner of the kingdom. Better yet, there’s a balance between precaution and panic that’s sensible and encouraging. Neighbors are offering to run errands for one another. They’re trading work schedules, bringing in the garbage cans and listening to each other’s anxieties. The weather, while it lasts, has become a great excuse for an icebreaker. Who knows? Maybe architects and home builders will rediscover the wonder of the front porch.

There’s no minimizing the pain and uncertainty this crisis is bringing, and the air of togetherness that has wafted over this slice of Tampa can disappear as quickly as it came. People are searching for a new routine. They are at least finding a sense of normal beyond their living rooms. The breeze still feels like a breeze, the grass still smells like grass, the mailman still delivers somebody else’s mail and the dogs still know the way to the river.

John Hill is a Tampa Bay Times editorial writer.