In such an urban setting, its not as easy to find as much botanical colours as I have done in my other palettes, but this doesn't mean that such colours are absent from Woodstock. The bumbling bougainvillea flowers pour over walls, and lean on old homes and creaking gates. Its branches twist and knot, gripping the old houses as though it, too, has roots in the families' stories. Sunlight catching on the paper-thin petals, making them glow like stained glass, fragile but unyielding. Laughter and grief alike have passed under that arch of bloom, each moment caught in the thorny embrace of the vine. Even now, as the houses settle deeper into their years, the bougainvillea bloom ferociously, a stubborn hymn of colour to witness the inheritance of the next generations.
