buds out at the end of April-early May, strutting its stuff alongside highways and abandoned roads. Then it explodes into bloom. There are a few I pass going to and from Ellis Island, in Liberty State Park.
No one pays them any mind.
But the tree also plays well with others, at home in a civilized suburban yard, behind a chainlink fence.
I love this specimen because of the magical way its blossoms stray from the expected place, bursting forth straight out of the bark on its branches and trunk, like the one I caught alongside a busy street in Austin. The botanical term for this habit is “cauliflory,” and I think I like it because it is just so preposterous.
Redbud’s fuchsia is a color unparalleled in nature. Soon it will have heart-shaped leaves.
Ezra Pound wrote of “petals on a wet dark bough.”
That’s redbud, ravishing and ephemeral. Just like spring.