Sitting out on the balcony on a cool (80 degree) day in late March, my mother showed me a tree she called “the Sysyphus tree.” Rough bark, winding branches, small leaves aflutter. It has to be pruned twice a year so the sunlight will be allowed to poke through.
Rabbits run around the lawn below, which is a good thing for the owls that roost in the tree. My mother calls to them, and they call back, when they are not being sullen.
My mother (her pic) has gotten to know the owls quite well. They disappeared when my father went into the hospital four weeks ago, and didn’t return until today, when I arrived. Sysyphus was condemned to rolling a boulder up a mountain. Late life illness is a burden everyone should be spared.
Jean Zimmerman 
Wishing good health to your DAD