23. The View from the Duomo
You have been travelling for some while now.
The Baedeker is no longer quite so crisp as it was when you set out. Tickets and notes have found their way into the folio, where once there was only an itinerary. A few places have been crossed out. Others have been added, in pencil.
Somewhere along the way, the plan became a journey. And now you have reached Florence.
There are, of course, gentler ways of seeing the city. But you climb. Up the narrow stair. Around the curve of the dome. Past those coming down, a little flushed, who assure you it is worth it.
At length, you step out into the air, and the city lies below you. From here, things arrange themselves rather differently.
Streets that seemed to have nothing to say to one another now meet. A piazza you happened upon three days ago proves to be only a few turnings from your hotel. The Arno explains itself.
You can see where you have been. You can also see how much of Florence you walked straight past - that is the peculiar advantage of arriving somewhere higher.
Nothing below has changed; only the view.
You have been looking for twenty-two Notes now:
At reactions.
At patterns.
At the parts you play.
At what becomes of you under pressure.
At what passes between people.
At the rather elaborate gardens we sometimes cultivate around things we ceased to notice years ago.
Perhaps some of it was at once familiar.
Perhaps some of it vexed you.
Perhaps there were Notes you understood only later.
Perhaps there remain one or two you consider complete nonsense.
That is quite all right.
This is not an examination. There is no final mark.
But from up here, you might turn about for a moment.
Look back to where you began.
What did you notice then?
What do you notice now?
What has become easier to see?
What catches your attention sooner than it once did?
What still takes you entirely by surprise?
What have you grown less certain of?
And what, despite everything, appears precisely as it did before?
There is no correct view from the Duomo
Someone notices the mountains.
Someone else, the rooftops.
Another looks down and realises they have been walking in circles.
Someone discovers that the place they had been searching for lay behind them all along.
The vantage point is shared - the view is not.
So there is nothing in particular you are meant to notice from up here,
Only this:
You are no longer standing where you started.
And before we move on, it seems worth a look about.
Because once you can see a little further, you occasionally notice something rather curious.
Something that has been there the entire time.
And which, until now,
you had never thought to look at.
