The sense of community I feel is warming and uplifting.

Somebody on your street takes in parcels for people they have never had a full conversation with. That is most of what community actually is — a low-grade, undramatic willingness to be slightly inconvenienced.

It's rarely felt as warmth at the time. It's felt afterwards, when you notice you didn't have to solve something alone: the shared tap at the allotment, the thread about the roadworks, the person who always knows which bin week it is. Less a feeling than an accumulation of small favours nobody is counting. The warmth is the by-product.