Change and the Redbud tree

I know Spring is on its way when the Redbud tree that stands right in front of my living room window starts giving out beautiful pink buds.  It is hard to express adequately the miracle of a tree so bare all through winter, suddenly go from stark brown to magenta.  Is magenta even the right color, I don’t know.

But there she is again, emerging from her own winter of storms, freeze, winds, drought and still standing, still surviving, still blooming, still giving.  Nature accepts the inevitability of change and forges a graceful rhythm instead of standing up in arms.

My Redbud tree is not an exotic tree.  She is fairly common in Austin and pretty low maintenance.  Which is why I love her so and why she represents all what is precious, yet taken for granted on earth.

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~ Lao Tzu

She is like you and me, a hard working girl.  To my Redbud Tree, coming into her own once again.

My Red Bud TreeRedbud

On the barest branches of the red bud tree,
Stripped dry by winter’s harsh breath
Before the advent of tender green shoots,
Little pink buds courageously appeared
Declaring the rebirth of life
The bee, butterfly, bird and beast found
Their song again.

—Shaku Selvakumar

Advertisements

5 thoughts on “Change and the Redbud tree

  1. soulmandala February 22, 2012 / 10:31 pm

    fabulous, hon! you captured it!

    • Shaku Selvakumar February 28, 2012 / 4:50 pm

      Thank you, my friend!

  2. Genève March 20, 2012 / 3:40 pm

    One year later, Shaku, I circle back to this poem…
    and finally share, here, the experience it inspired in me.

    ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

    This, your poem stirred in me ~ a lovely journey.

    ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

    Precociously tiny, tight buds unflinchingly fling sparks of coral joy into a wasteland painted in gradations of gray. Their audacity shocks. But nectar-imbibing creatures, knowing these curls of pink for the phat phenom they are, commence to vibrate in harvest song. Hmmm.

    The shout of newborn petals, however glorious, is a mere rotation of a minute cog buried unfathomably in the endless machinations of the universe. True. Yet, also this: An action of such delicacy may flicker irresistibly to another point of departure, such as a humming bee, whose song may stir the birds, and so on, thus setting wave upon wave of kineticism in motion, ultimately catalyzing unquantifiable transformations in all that turns in the cosmos.

    Thank you, Shaku, for this poem of few petals, sparer words, and audacious, bodacious virility precisely where seemingly least possible.

    • Shaku Selvakumar April 11, 2012 / 8:38 pm

      Beautiful, Geneve! Thank you for posting.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s