What a way to end a day.
For a little change from the natural world of fall foliage along Concord Road in Sudbury, I thought I show you photos from the man-made world of fashion along Via Tornabuoni in Florence. Whereas leaves are free around here, the outfits shown in these windows are in the thousands of dollars. No exaggeration. A designer dress falls in the range of 2000 to 3000 euro, or roughly between $2761 and $4142. Shoes are a little less, as are designer clothes for children! It's your choice. I found another secret entry to the Boboli Gardens, this time through the Bardini Gardens. The two seemed to flows into the other, as I felt I was floating along with Langley and Siena in Dan Brown’s “Inferno”. I don’t mind the tourist noise in Florence, but I must say, the silence today in the gardens was serene, sprinkled here and there by a water fountain, an occasional bird call, and Giotto’s campanile in the distance. Solitary walks produce unexpected surprises. I’m not saying that companion walks don’t offer the same, but walking alone, my eyes and ears stay focused outward. Today was a day of animals, from ducks, to cats, to chickens, to butterflies, to lizards. My first surprise was a squawking duck (goose?) on the wall along the Arno. He was talking up a storm, perhaps a little (or a lot) afraid that he had strayed from the riverbank where he lived with his buddies and didn’t know how to get home. Next, along the path to the Piazzale Michelangelo, behind a fence and bushes two women were tending to cats in little ‘red cross’ boxes. Evidently I had come across, among other things, a shelter for stray cats. A rooster and hen were also enjoying themselves in the same enclosure further up the path. Not to be outdone, a butterfly felt quite at home with me on the path. And finally, among the gravestones at San Miniato, a lizard was sunning himself.
I live in a country-like suburb about twenty-five miles from Boston: farm land during colonial times. Word has it that Sudbury encompasses the largest landmass in the Commonwealth. As I’ve shown on previous blogs, the walks I take from my house are quite idyllic, so you might conclude that they are also quiet. I don’t want to exaggerate the noise but suffice to say, I’ve given up counting the number of lawn-care and garbage (excuse me, waste-removal) trucks that chug past me. Thank goodness, at least for the safety of walkways. A quiet walking spot, however, is the expansive cemetery just beyond the Unitarian Church at the town center. I go there with a friend whose husband is buried close to a tree that the family planted. It is a peaceful place for both of us. While my friend sits and remembers, I walk and remember—friends, spouses of friends, a dear teaching colleague, and a second grade student. Sad for me but seemingly peaceful for those buried there. Strange how that is! Flowers along my cemetery walk Not a silent walk yesterday. Tree surgeons, or rather their equipment, were cluttering the sound waves due to a five minute ‘hurricane’ the evening before. Wild wind from the northwest and then it was gone. We had a few branches cluttering our patio, but up the street the neighbor’s driveway was blocked, and I mean blocked. Once those machines grind everything into mulch, however, their cars will drive right out onto the road. It must be the fates that decide what will be hit and what will be saved. It’s been a week since I was living by the sea on Iona, and already I’m missing it. What is it about the sea that gives me satisfaction? Maybe it’s the travel. To get to Iona I took two ferries, which meant crossing two bodies of water, and that was after flying over the Atlantic to Scottish soil. I think I’m in control of my life, only to realize that I am at the mercy of waves and wind. And yet, the satisfaction of living by the sea. When I go to the cottage by the sea I drive an hour and a half on the highway. Sometimes the trip, although never as dramatic as a ferry ride, can offer its own waves and winds in the form of rain, snow and traffic. And yet, the satisfaction of living by the sea. The pounding of the sea on the rocks and sand takes away any smug feeling of control. A sunny day on Iona, or a pristine sunrise at the cottage does the same. The sea: sunrises from the cottage! The sea: from sunny Iona! On the train to Oban a few days ago I got talking with a fellow traveler as one only seems to do on a train. I brought up the topic of my lost suitcase of six days, which three days prior I had been told was on its way to Glasgow via Brussels. I told my traveling friend about the positives of losing a suitcase: that there was a certain simplicity in not having all that stuff; that I had no decisions to make about what to wear; that when I left the hotel in Edinburgh I only had to pack a simple backpack. But then I got going on the negatives: that I had to make telephone calls a couple of times a day; that although I was doing my best not to think about it while sightseeing (or while sleeping), clearly it was taking more psychic energy that I wanted to admit. We discussed what one might learn from such a situation, which I summed up in two sound bites: ‘the stuff’ and ‘the anxiety about the stuff’ Then my friend gave her summary: “You are practicing non-reactive awareness.” Isn’t that a wonderful phrase? I’ve been doing my best to practice it ever since. For me it means that I don’t need to react negatively or defensively, but instead be aware, and of course as need be, take action. Stop the chatter in my head about ‘that inept airline’, etc. etc. etc. And, yes, call to see how things are going. I must admit it is easier to write about non-reactive awareness than to practice it. But Iona, where everything is clear and simple, where the space between heaven and earth is thin, is a great place to make an effort and to have some successes. And so with that in mind, here are some pictures of my hike to St. Columba’s Bay today. I might add that sheep are pros at non-reactive awareness. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
Categories
All
Archives
September 2023
|