I love this time of year in Florence. It's no longer winter but spring has not yet arrived, it's that in-between season when roasted chestnuts are a memory, the artichokes are barely breaking ground and the baccelli are at least a month away. The sagre haven't yet begun. One day it is brisk and the next day warm and so we don't know quite how to dress and it's not consistently warm enough to attract crowds. The sun has been optimistically shining!
It's still off-season, overlooked by tourists, perhaps my favorite season in Florence. It's completly the domain of the Florentines, who seem to go into hiding when the swallows reappear and the tourists come out. It's not too quiet, not too loud and it's filled with anticipation and fantasy. The concerts, theater and operas, where I seldom see a visitor, belong to the residents. It's a distinct season into itself, a season of anticipation, a pre-spring, a sort of "on the cusp" time of year....we are living on the edge of our seats waiting for Spring to confirm itself. The calm before the storm.
