This is Ann Cavitt Fisher!!
In those winter nights next to the Duomo, life came back to me.
It’s an 88 step climb to a week I now carry with me always.
Paolo opened the door of my taxi. “Ciao, Anna. Your trip was good?”
He took one of my two small bags, and we mountain-goated it up the seemingly endless flights, Paolo chatting to me the whole way. Where was his oxygen coming from? I had no breath for talking. I worked just to make it look like the stairs and the suitcase were not too tough. Then we were there. The terrace and sitting room so close to the Duomo — it seemed I could reach out and touch it.
Mid-December was cold, and dark came early. The lights for the cathedral popped to life. I sat in the upstairs room with a glass of Chianti hardly able to…
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