Ode to the Eastern Redbud
Late spring. Redbuds dot
Kentucky hillsides as strong
winds whip up quick
storms through the greening
valley. When their pale
magenta blossoms open—just for two
maybe three weeks—it’s like the part
of the fireworks show where you stop
speechless except for a long
ahhhh. June now,
the fence lizards are sunbathing
on jagged rocks, the sweet pinks
are gone from the hills, although lush
layers of green roll over
the landscape in manifold
shades and textures. All year
I long for the return
of the redbuds, their pastel
kisses signaling the end
of black ice and thick
socks. Summer with its shuffling
turtles and irritable brown
wasps will keep flaring
until September. Meanwhile,
I can’t let go of the peaceable
spring redbud. Its delicacy haunts
me and like a favorite
aunt who comes to stay
once a year, entrusts
me with its brief, rare calyx.
5 thoughts on "Ode to the Eastern Redbud"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
How delightful! You had me at the word redbuds–love them! Many times I had to stop driving and pull over on a country road just to marvel at their beauty. Wonderful images throughout the poem.
Thank you Sylvia. I still can’t get over how short of a time we get with the blooming redbuds.
My redbud annoys me now, its limbs heavy with beans. My gutter awaits! I will not cut it though, thanks to its spring color redemption.
The Redbud is so short lived, but even more so is the Sarvice sweeping across the waiting forest. These two harbingers of spring give us a needed lift.
Loved your poem.
I revel in myriad shades of magenta and pink.
You’ve captured it .