Three Little Birds

 

A lovely thing happened on my first October 2024 morning in Florence, a city my love and I first visited in 1995. My small hotel was immediately adjacent to Duomo Square, and I hugged its perimeter as I followed my carefully researched route to Conad for a few grocery basics. I don't know whether I actually followed my route or just my nose, but I did come upon a higgledy piggledy well-stocked little store. 

Heading 'home' quite satisfied, I heard the sweet strains of Bob Marley's 'Three Little Birds', our 'everything's gonna be alright' song that we turned to at tough times in the last 20 years of our life together. Won't go into what made it so, but it is 'our song.'

There was my busker. A kind, open face. Sitting with his guitar on the pavement outside the forbidding rusticated wall of a palazzo. A warm smile. I shuffled through the unfamilar euros. A small gift.

                And as I turned homeward, I looked up to see if there might be a street name, to pair with this lovely travel memory.

And there was. Canto dei Pazzi. I thought it might mean Street of Peace. Silly me.