There’s a certain sculptural quality to these tufts of color draped over a wall at St. Timothy’s Catholic Church. As if each tuft is making a statement. No two are alike. There’s a profusion of red that becomes more granular as one moves closer, until the granules take on shape and almost speak. I walked back and forth for a long time wondering how to capture this. The farther back I stood the more it was simply red. But the closer I got, it slowly turned into hundreds of possible photographs. All of them different. All of them the same. This is a bougainvillea. I remember them as beautiful to watch growing, and nothing but dreary, thankless work to remove. My father would never have planted one in his or any other garden. They reach a point where they almost own the house. They grow over walls and roofs, and choke doors and windows, and look absolutely stunning until fear sets in. St. Timothy’s is at that early wonderful stage. Pax vobiscum.