ABSTRACT
It had been a beautiful sunny day. My 91-year-old mother and I sat in the garden at her nursing home feeding the birds and counting the grasshoppers that hung on the window pane. We observed the unusual cloud formations above us—enormous, white, fluffy, and low hanging. Before we left this outdoor space my mother asked me to cut off some of the branches from a bright red bush to bring into her room. She handed me a sharp knife, carefully wrapped in a paper towel, which residents are forbidden to have.
