Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The smell of grass from a green meadow fills the air. The sun beams brightly on my back. Not a care in the world. I graze lazily as I wait. I wait to be counted. I chew and chew the tasteless grass, swallow, and chew again.

A “Bah, Bah” off in the distance. It is time. I sluggishly get up, one leg, two, and then the third and fourth follow. I’m lost in the herd army; marching away to our purpose, to be counted. We all move along without fear, for there were no threats from dogs or wolves. We move with determination.

Day turns to night, and we are bathed in the starry light of night’s light bulbs and the crooked moon. A line forms, and a chorus of “Bah, Bah” erupts in excitement. It is now that we hear the voice of the cool night breeze. My life is a routine; the sight ahead of me is no wonder, no miracle. It’s just life.

Slowly but surely, the line ahead of me shortens. Soon it will be my turn. The windy voice is getting louder and clearer. There’s three ahead of me, two, one, and now it’s my turn.

With a “Bah Bah” I leap over the wooden fence. I soar through the night sky, soaring and soaring until the world below is a dot. I reach the stars. Paper cutout of different colors, drawn with squiggly lines to show its magnificent shine. I soar and soar. Nothing is a wonder, for this is routine. Over and through the hook of the crescent moon I start my decent. I land in the waiting herd with the voice of the wind counting 47. I am 47.

My job is done, my purpose has been fulfilled tonight. I graze lazily with my companions to the soft whispers of the tired wind…48…49…50…51….