Postcard from Florence
For a tourist, Italy can seem as overexposed as a sunset; every view recognized in postcard after postcard. Writing seems as redundant as any visual document. Others have described these narrow streets, these views, the moods, the weather, as well or better. The Brownings lived here amongst others, but perhaps more familiar to me is …
San Michele at closing time. Row upon row. Modernist architecture mixes with the Baroque. A voice that reminds me of Fahrenheit 451/ 1984 announces in many languages that it is the closing hour. But before that the bells ring the hour, echoing over the water. The perpetual fountains stop their flowing by the same clock.
Water and Voices
Water echoes like a bell in languages I do not understand, I stand on the dock at San Michele while full Vaporettos pass one after the other.