YEARS are mirrors. Before them, every December 31, this is what I see: life’s lines etched more deeply. More wrinkles. Larger pores. Less hair.

And time returns to numbers: if you celebrated your 50th birthday this year, or your 60th or more, then you know you will never live as many years again. The end of the road is in sight.

In this sense, the future is more certain: life will end. I will certainly not see the 7 million seedlings planted