…if this is a white-shouldered bumblebee or maybe a mixed bumblebee but I do know it was quiet on the spare surgical mask I carried it on from the parking lot in front of the IGA this morning to the mahonia blossoms by the school field and that it was reluctant to climb from the mask to the flowers but eventually it did, sort of hoisting itself up using its front legs and I thought how that small moment meant everything in a week where I haven’t had much sleep and where the great quiet of the night has provided too much time for thinking dark thoughts circling around endless weeks and months of masks and no contact with loved ones and grandchildren growing up too far away. The small moment when the bee stepped forward, reluctantly, into the sweetness of the yellow flowers, a few of their bells open on the drooping racemes, that moment is with me as I change to my oldest jeans and head outside to help put on the greenhouse roof.
...Theresa Kishkan 
Greenhouse roof! What progress you two have made since we saw pavers on crushed rock. Well done. Thank you again for sending snippets out into the world. I don’t always reply or comment but please know I treasure these glimpses, Theresa. Others of us are awake in the middle of the night for hours too but don’t emerge in the morning in wisdom the way you do.
Ah Susan, grateful as always for your response. The greenhouse is a kit, mostly straightforward, but right now it’s one of those moments from Dylan Thomas, a kit for little engineers, oh easy for Leonardo. So will there be a roof soon? Hmmm.
What she said. Seconded all the way, from another night worrier who loves how you put it all into words for us.
I wish sweet dreams for all of us, Beth.