Most people have had not honored even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.
—Bronnie Ware, Top Five Regrets of the Dying
Three inches of chicken feathers
fell overnight, and my son,
still dressed in blue striped pajamas,
went scampering out
to move snow. We moved
snow for an hour. Two hours?
We moved snow from one place
to another. We moved snow
and moved more snow.
Whose dream is that?
To move snow? But between
the stripes of asphalt and white
the morning filled in
with the richest laughter.
No reason to laugh except
we were shoveling and the snow
was light and the sky was gray
and it looked, hallelujah,
as if it might snow some more
so that we could keep moving
together outside, warm
and breathless and choosing
to shovel, to move piles of snow
joyfully from one place to another.