Sermons in Stones

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
I would not change it.”  As You Like It, Shakespeare

I understand that  Duke Senior was finding moral metaphors in pastoral symbols but when I was in urban Italy I seemed to turn this on its head. Apologies for yet another post about road surfaces.

I  spent most of my time in Florence looking at small things, very often even the ground beneath my feet. I suppose you notice things more in a strange place because even cracks in tarmac began to take on a significance. There are mountains in the gutters and landscapes in tarmac.

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These are just cracks at the edge of the pavement, but there was a resonance of the Highlands. The grey horizon below is very reminiscent of the view of the Cuillins from my kitchen window at Colbost.

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There were even snow capped peaks.

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Ok, I’m stretching it with these two, but it’s all in the eye of the beholder.

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But there is a touch of the Misty Isle and Sgùrr Dearg, the Inaccessible Pinaccle about this.

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There are other delights if you know where to find them.

Birch leaves scattered like gold coins round a grate.

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A collision of green triangles in a courtyard at the Pitti Palace.

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My ingrained pareidolia did not desert me just because I was abroad. I noticed these horrid little faces in the mud left by a sudden thunderstorm at the Boboli Gardens.

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And these in a wall near Santa Croce – three for the price of one!

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And I was especially tickled by the pizza box horse poking his nose out of the rubbish bin in Santa Spirito.

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My ruminations are not as noble or as spiritual  as Duke Senior’s, but like him “I would not change it.”

 

 

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About pennimania

Artist, entomologist, grumbler.
This entry was posted in Boboli Personality, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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