Just after the sun dropped behind the mountain across the way, after the storms passed, a pale golden light suffused the air, turning the pink blossoms of the ornamental dogwood in the front yard a vivid rose against the dark leaves.

I'm happy to see the dogwood blossoming again. Last year, for the first time in the seven years we've been here, it failed to display a single flower. I was worried I had trimmed it back too far during the previous autumn. But, then, the tree put on its most spectacular show after I'd trimmed it back for the first time, and even more severely.

It's necessary for me to trim the tree because the previous owner planted it squarely in line with the front window. It may be a miniature but it would quickly obliterate our view if left untended. The tree is taller than I am even in its pruned state.

People will insist on planting trees in inappropriate places. The red maple smack in the middle of the postage stamp sized lawn of our house in Rochester New York probably looked cute there as a sapling, but it was already getting too big when we moved in. By now I imagine the limbs are scraping the roof while the roots strangle the storm drain.

We all know that trees grow over the course of time. Maybe we just never reckon on time moving as fast as it does. That year when the tree will be far too large for where we've put it seems too distant to ever arrive.

But at least the dogwood is back in bloom. In a week or so the pink flowers will fade to white before vanishing for another year. Sometime in the autumn I'll probably have to do more pruning but that's a long way off.