I sit in my dockside chair and watch the water and the sky and the reflections that ripple in the waves as the fishing boats go by, and hear the birds and smell the air and feel the cold breeze on my face and arms, and think, “This is nothing.” And it’s true: it really isnothing. This day is nothing. This dock is nothing. Thesefeelings and thoughts, they’renothing. But they’re a good nothing, a very good nothing, the very best nothing: the kindof nothing you wish there were more of, the kind...