The countdown has started. In the communal flower garden in the center of the village, the blooms wither and fall to the ground as we call out the numbers together: 28! 27! 26!
We’ve never reached zero.
But many times we’ve awoken to ourselves, restrained by vines, in the park, the sun pleasant and warm, and we pass a pleasant afternoon there, content, and the good mood lasts for months, until we remember the countdown, and that we never finished it.