I remember being stopped in my tracks when I heard Gary Vaynerchuk say, "What if I told you this was the last Monday morning of your life?"

Paul Klee ups the ante here.

Imagine you are dead.

Dead.

Not only dead – but in exile for many years.

Where's exile? Are you in purgatory? And in what manner do you still exist?

Let's put these existential questions to one side.

Wherever you are, you are in exile - barred from life on earth.

After many years (a long time), you are permitted to cast a single glance earthward.

A single glance.

Just one.

And you see a lamppost and an old dog lifting his leg against it.

Relieving himself.

And you?

You are moved.

So moved that you cannot help sobbing.

==========

I sit here writing this in a silent summer house on Martha's Vineyard.

It is pouring.

Rain bounces off the deck beyond the sliding door.

And it gurgles in the gutters.

Every so often, a car passes by on Middle Road.

Car approaching.

Car passing.

Car going away.

A bird lands and chirps. Then flies off.

Moving.