Florence

The Arno in the late spring

The Arno in the late spring

January 1, 2019 - When we first moved from New York to Florence, I kept a journal—several actually—to chronicle my discovery of the city: first impressions, Italian words, curiosities, notes from cultural excursions, rushed sketches of bridges and buildings. If I had felt apprehension about adjusting to a new life before moving, it was gone by the time I unpacked my belongings and settled into my small sunlit room in our remote villa on Via Madonna delle Grazie.

Piazza Carmine on a winter morning

Piazza Carmine on a winter morning

Eventually, I stopped writing about Florence. I grew accustomed to the untarnished beauty; the freshness of change wore off and somehow became less worthy of dedicated diary entries. That’s not to say that I fell out of love with the city. On the contrary, it never ceased to amaze me. Fifteen years later, it still holds me captive. Rereading early accounts, I giggle at my innocence and feel nostalgic for that magical time of discovery—even more so now, as I finally prepare to leave.

Mamma on our walk up Costa dei Magnoli onto Costa S. Giorgio

Mamma on our walk up Costa dei Magnoli onto Costa S. Giorgio

On this first day of the new year, and the last day in my home, I honor the true essence of the life I have lived and loved here: the possibility of movement from one home to the other, the balance of one identity with the other, the excitement of frequent change, the expectation of frequent return.

Via Serragli on a summer afternoon

Via Serragli on a summer afternoon