stories.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." -Maya Angelou 

Stories flood the streets of Florence. They spill over every step, pour out of every cafe and drip between every conversation. The museum curators and multi-lingual tour guides narrate stories of the epic history of the Duomo or the Santa Croce cathedral, two sites we daily pass in our strolls. The baristas and waiters recount stories about the affairs of their regular customers, in a language I’ve yet to speak. The outdoor markets heckle the story of Italian cuisine in its origin, and the carefully mastered trade of its vendors. Our roommates, our new family of 8, try to ramble through their own stories, of where they come from and what they dream to accomplish. The corner musicians evoke nostalgic sentiment as they re-tell the already written stories of humanity and passion. And African street merchants just ask you to buy their fake goods.

These obvious tales collect in obvious places within the limits of our Renaissance town. Yet more stories dwell behind the Gothic doors of Florence abodes. Winding down the isolated alleys and sealed behind 3^rd-story window shutters, hover the undiscovered tales that enchant this place. And these untold stories beckon the wanderer to listen more intently. They compel us to scrutinize the surreal effect of a Florence sunset viewed from the top of the Piazzale Michelangelo hill. They entice us ponder the life of the solitary row boat, gliding down the Arno River in front of our flat. Or they challenge us to humbly accept the sweet savor of a chocolate croissant from the “secret bakery” after midnight.  Within the hidden meanings, and the tales longing to be realized, Florence will constantly bask in an aura of romantic curiosity.

As we continue to pursue the hidden life here around our Italian home, we hope to also uncover the bigger Life-story, expecting it to possess and connect all the smaller stories. Both told and untold.