4. p.m. Florence Time. June 28th, 2010

With my drive to Madison and my new adult life only a week away, I wanted to take the time to relive the approach to Florence onboard the itty-bitty cigarbox of a plane. As I will be driving to Madison I won't have the opportunity to chronicle the trip in the same way--writing and driving would probably end poorly. 
Read and remember. This made me even more excited for my return home. 

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From the air, the forests of Germany press in on the sides of Frankfurt's airport--unlike any metropolitan airport I've ever seen. Perfectly square fields in varying colors of green are laid out neatly in the cleared areas. Neighborhoods are equally regimented for maximum space efficiency. A river runs south--the same direction this cigar plane is headed. The strip of water is wide and even, the banks a uniform width. It seems that Nature has opted for precision and evenness in the German landscape, something I've never seen before. 
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Just flew over the Alps. Gorgeous unlike anything I've ever seen. The lakes at their base are vast. My years of map research makes it easy to distinguish Bellagio, the town of Como clinging to the edge of the water under the shadow of the mountains.

Then the landscape flattens out. Spotted with what looks like farm plots and arrow-straight glints of railroad tracks. The Po River comes into view, slicing a blue streak across the otherwise evergreen and rich brown land below. Ripples of earth begin hinting of hills and valleys, a prelude to the famous Tuscany. 


And there is Parma, grown around the river's edge. Nearby forests cover the tops of Romagna's Alpan Alps. 

And finally, finally, Tuscany. The plane descends.

There is the Arno, the dividing feature of Florence, moving lazily under the Ponte Vecchio. The Duomo is visible for a moment--its immense terracotta colored dome my personal beacon. Come see. Come taste. Come live. I'm here. Sono qui.