Sooner or later, every one of us ambles into our last sunset. It doesn’t knock or ask if supper’s ready—it just slides down the sky like a mule that’s done its day’s work. You can holler if you want, but sunsets aren’t famous for turning around. By then, the bones start whispering that maybe we’ve plowed enough furrows for one lifetime, and the promise of a better rest begins to sound downright sensible.