Firenze comme era

Returning from Firenze last evening I was astonished to see my home more beautiful than anything there. The yard was lush and redolent from the two weeks of rain. And most intriguingly I dreamt of Florence, its stone streets, while I'd not dreamt of it once while there. The Florence I dreamt was a secret garden though all was stone. A neuropsychologist has written "My Stroke of Luck"--I saw it mentioned while on the plane--that allowed her to enter her "right brain" and discover the world was too much with her. Shades of Dostoevski who said he'd give his whole life to live one day in his aura. All connects; mind is Mind. Giacommetti would save his cat over his Michaelangelo. And Fra Angelico would sooner use Tamara of the Vivoli than Madonna.
It is not the soles of our feet that need washing after our daily encounters. Can we, dare we, use our true resource to flood our world instead of being gorged by it? Smile! You're on cando camera.