Black Waters and Hot Glass

Everybody has a place in the world that isn't home but they wish it was. What is it about Italy that allures? Is it because it is sinking into the sea under the weight of all its beauty? Is it that the people sing every time they speak? Or is it that it’s a pictured story book that has no human end?

I remember my first night in Florence like it was the first time I opened my eyes. On a bridge over the Arno I was struck silent by the contrast between the inky black water and the deep gold of the opulent buildings touching its sides. Black and gold. A visual metaphor for the glittering hearts of the merchants and bankers and fashion houses who’ve drunk the city’s waters ever since the Medici captured its soul.