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  • Writer's pictureNora Studholme

Something about the light

The light is different here. It is always sunny, even when it is cold, and the sun seems to be in a perpetual golden hour. It soaks into the gold of the stone buildings, catches on the terracotta tiles in an auburn glow. The window boxes, undeterred by the chill of winter, overflow with a tumble of leaves and herbs. I think it might be impossible to be in a bad mood once you’ve walked outside in Florence.

... Or maybe even when you're inside? Seems like the sunlight always finds its way in.

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