As the still bright sun goes down behind the clouds over the woods on a cold and windy day, a Blue Banded Bee gets ready for the long dark night through which he cannot fly away. For a while he comes and he goes but eventually to keep, he locks his jaws on the stem and that way goes to sleep. And on the way he dreams of the things, of bees. While stretching his wings and kicking his legs he turns this way and that to indicate, he sees. The blue of a flower in bloom, a little nectar or pollen, a mate of his kind. Zooming in and out between the grasses and among the trees. God knows he will find. Dreaming in imagery a thinker could never know, the things a bee is and does. Making his home near enough to his kind, making it on the go. And all the while, he keeps his big eyes open for danger and, marvelously, knows no foe ... I have taken hundreds of shots of these Blue Banded Bees and only the once did he open his wings, to show. And did he find a mate? Or is it just a friend. Whichever, 'tis not the end.