On last morning in Florence, before leaving the keys on the table and shutting the apartment door, and before pulling my suitcase along the bumpy streets to the station to get the 7:20 bus to the airport, I took a brief farewell walk to Ponte Trinita and Ponte Vecchio. Morning has always been my best time; early morning is solitude’s moment. But even at 6:30, I wasn’t the only one out there along the Arno. Early morning is a time of solitude for runners, street cleaners, delivery people, and pigeons.
Now I am home, waking up too early even for a morning person. Jetlag finds me awake while it is still dark. But soon the light comes and I find that it is beautiful here too. Early morning, be it in Florence or home, is solitude’s moment.
Now I am home, waking up too early even for a morning person. Jetlag finds me awake while it is still dark. But soon the light comes and I find that it is beautiful here too. Early morning, be it in Florence or home, is solitude’s moment.