Five years ago a group of friends gifted us with dogwood trees. I love the white blossoms, which are proof that winter has ended,. Having them in our yard has been a sweet pleasure. They were both planted on the same day, by the same men. And yet today the number of flowering branches differs significantly. 

It came suddenly. Monday was quite cold, and I wondered if the window of spring beauty had closed even before it opened. But this morning I was delighted to see a bounty of snowy branches on the dogwood in the front yard, after a triplet of sunny afternoons. 

Then there is the tree in the back. It is still waiting to wake up. I counted three creamy circles of petals. The soil conditions and amount of sunlight are of course unequal. But there are only fifty paces between them as the crow flies, or up until last year, the escaping chicken. What created such a disparity of foliage? It seems likely that the lagging tree will fill out in a few days as well. Perhaps they are like two sisters who want their own chance to be the center of attention. 

The pair of trees in the Garden of Eden behaved differently as well. The Tree of Life was at first in the center, with the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil relegated to the side. But in time they swapped positions, a reflection of Adam and Eve's choice to hoist their own wishes above God's intentions for them. 

It seems presumptuous, to believe that I know better than God. He gave very few instructions. 

"Eat this. Don't eat this." And yet even those guidelines weighed too heavily, bending the limbs of willpower. 

It remains to be seen whether I will flower to my full potential. But watching my dogwoods gives me good reason to try.