we spent our third day in Florence in the hesitance and brume of hazy daylight through the crosshatched panes of the Uffizi, eyes gorging on the satin gleam off dark parade armor painted in Titian’s portraits of Duke Francesco Maria, the overflowing pantry still lives of l’Empoli, the lush and cavernous chiaroscuro shadows, countless divine ecstasies and bored gazes of countless hagiographs in those sun-washed hallways over the Arno River.
the cradle of the Rennaissance spills over with heart-wrenching masterpieces, but i’m still swallowed by the strong bare forearms of that barista at Caffe Brunelleschi who stared at Adrienne for a moment too long when he passed our cappuccinos over the bar…and if not, then i’m dizzy from those askance, chin-cocked glares from the boy at the Christmas market, thrilling in their investigation, their unsubtlety. in fact i’m still half-lidded and smiling to myself, woefully unembarrassed, to imagine how the woman from the Niobe gallery lets her jet Revlon-ad hair pour to one shoulder when she stretches her neck to either side at the end of a long day of sending her dark eyes on laps of Caravaggio’s unsettling Medusa, or the agony of Bandinelli’s Laocoön and his Sons, or the tense jaw-tightening suspicion of Raphael’s Portrait of Pope Leo X with Two Cardinals, or Michelangelo’s irreplaceable Something Something and the Somethings (not to mention his indescribable Coronation of the Something!). i imagine her beautiful black boots kicked off by the door, her beautiful black longcoat shrugged over the back of a honey walnut chair, her head spinning with the angles of brushstrokes; i imagine the volumetric light in the gallery casting shadow over the architectural high bridge of her aquiline nose.
❧
when the light begins to fade from the endless halls of sculpture and art, we drift through the end of a daydream across the Ponte Vecchio. find a shop run by a man who has sandwiches on the menu for each sign of the astrological wheel, or for seven euros, “paradiso: sei nelle mie mani” — you are in my hands. we hike contentedly up to watch the sunset warm up the December sky over the grand cathedral dome up at Piazzale Michelangelo like dutiful tourists.
late evening in our Borgo di Greci apartment, the conversation is a spiral of remembrances of our Florentine adventure this afternoon, and logistics for a Roman one tomorrow.