I got all the cans from the better part of this winter ready to the recycling place. It took a long time; some of the bags had broken, quite possibly because I had nudged them when backing up and they were covered with snow. Or maybe I nudged them on days when the snow had blown off and they were in plain sight – if it had been light. Of course, some times I didn’t think to look at all.

The temperature was warm enough for me to be out in shirt sleeves and there was a slight breeze from the southwest. I know this because when I straightened up to rest occasionally, the loose strands of my hair would blow around my face, and I would have looking to the northeast. There was a lot of time to think.

And I thought and I realized there are only so many times you can say “I’m sorry” to a gravestone before you realize you could have done one of two other things: lived my life better or said “I’m sorry” earlier.