The Town of Perfect Numbers

Every year, the people of Willow Square held a festival to celebrate progress.

At first, it was simple. They counted how many trees had been planted. Then they counted how many books had been borrowed. Then how many windows had been repaired, pies had been baked, and songs had been sung.

Soon, everyone carried little notebooks.

• “How many steps today?”

• “How many smiles?”

• “How many helpful deeds?”

The townspeople became wonderfully skilled at counting.

One afternoon, a visitor arrived and asked an elderly woman sitting beside the fountain, “How is your town doing?”

The woman opened a notebook thick enough to stop a door.

“Excellent,” she said. “Last year we recorded 42,113 acts of kindness.”

“That's impressive,” said the visitor.

“It is.”

“Were people kinder?”

The woman blinked. “I’m not sure.”

The visitor pointed toward the square.

Two neighbors stood beside a fallen bicycle.

One carefully straightened the wheel while the other laughed so hard he nearly dropped the basket of peaches he was carrying.

Neither wrote anything down.

The elderly woman watched them for a while.

Then she opened her notebook.

The visitor smiled. “Adding two more acts of kindness?”

“No,” she said.

She gently tore out a page. Then another. And another.

“What are you doing?”

The woman looked toward the neighbors again. “Making room.”

“For what?”

She closed the notebook and tucked it under her arm.

“I haven't decided yet,” she said. “But I think it might be larger than numbers.”

That evening, the festival committee announced a surprising result. For the first time in twenty years, nobody knew whether the town had improved.

The celebration lasted longer than usual. And nobody remembered to count the songs.