If your first contact with a redbud tree is in summer or fall or winter, you won’t be impressed. It’s as twisted as a mesquite but without the likelihood of a well-smoked brisket.
The eastern redbud is spindly. It’s gnarled. It twists this way and that, never assuming the posture of a real honest-to-God tree. Truly, for 11 months of the year your redbud looks like a lost shrub that missed its chance to be part of the hedge.
But for those precious few weeks — some years, maybe only days — in the early spring, the redbud wins your heart, a crimson counterpoint to the still-dreary hardwood forest. The redbud tree is a promise kept.
We’re surrounded by redbuds, full of promise if we’ll but see them through their seasons.