I envy her, really. I crave such equanimity myself, such a perfect balance on earth, but I fear I'll never gain it. The streets teem with children in school uniforms. They tote books, they run in packs, they are adored by passing adults, who chuck them under the chin and pat them on the head. Kids are the true royalty in Florence, little princes and princesses whose every whim must be indulged.
Childhood flies, after all.
It comes from the glowing infant she clasps to her breast. The traffic is intense. Diesel fumes, belching old buses, motorscooters that buzz like mosquitoes. I am forever dodging hellbent drivers and also soccer balls. The kids kick them back and forth, bouncing them off walls, cathedrals, monuments and cars.