Where Lexington's equestrian estates favored the subtler tones of the spectrum, Lincoln draws the eye toward those grey to nearly black streaks that give Black Limba its name—veins of dark figuring that move through the golden brown heartwood like storm fronts crossing the Great Plains, dramatic and unhesitant. Here in Nebraska's capital, where university architecture meets the steady pragmatism of a city that builds to last, Rosebud ships flitches whose color will only deepen with the years, darkening slowly in the prairie light that floods through Lincoln's broad windows. The sapwood's pale greyish margin, not clearly demarcated from the heartwood, ensures that each panel transitions seamlessly across its own surface, a quality that Lincoln's designers have learned to use as a compositional tool rather than a limitation. And it is precisely this interplay between the figured and the plain, the declared and the merely suggested, that carries the wood's story further east now toward Litchfield,