Beth Kephart's Blog, page 161
October 3, 2012
mist and fog burning to pink and David
with so many thanks to my friends who have left comments. almost everything electronic in my life is broken. my blog says I am a foreigner (and indeed I am). my Facebook says I am not allowed to comment (mostly). and hours before I got on a plane my entire email system crashed.
how much of this matters in Florence, you ask?
none of it, really, except that I don't mean to be rude.
today I interviewed the proprietors of Italy's largest independent bookstore (English speaking) for an upcoming Publishing Perspectives story. I talked for an hour to a craftsman. and then I slipped inside a cloister for young friars and learned from a master, a story I will tell at another time. I will tell you, too, someday, of a magical green-eyed woman named Laura.
but all of that is for someday, when I can properly honor these true Florentines.
but
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October 2, 2012
October 1, 2012
Twin Lights, End of Day, Florence
I didn't stop walking. I couldn't. I was running after light, or toward it. Running away from storms and into cloisters and through cyclists. A rainbow burst. A boy played a trumpet for a girl. An egret spoke at length with a magpie. Then this happened.
Everywhere I go I find gifts I would have bought for my mother. Stories I might have told her.
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September 30, 2012
Baptistry and Moon, 6 AM, Florence, Italy
I was there, alone and jubilant, waiting for the moon. It broke, at last, through the clouds.
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Tomatoes have never tasted as good
As they did here, in a temperamental chef's restaurant in the heart of Santa Croce. In the church the bells ring. On the hard stone streets they drive two white poodles to a single bike basket. Over the dam a white egret worries. In the virtual air space all the talk is of JK Rowling and her apparently racy, unhappy new book. I am happy to be reading a beautiful novel instead, about which I will soon be reporting here.
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