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24th of June, St. John the Baptist, Saint Patron of Florence. It is a feast day in Florence. The day of the final of the Calcio Storico, the day of the fireworks, dei fohi. Thus I took this occasion to make something a bit more special. A way to say thanks to my city, a way to feel closer to it. I bring it always with me but at the same time I miss it lot. It is eight years by now that I left, first in Pisa, then in the UK. It is eight years that I don't live my the city anymore, but every time I come back I try to find sometime for a walk in the city centre, or on the surrounding hills.
You can't describe Florence, you can't explain what it is that makes it so special, that move you, deeply, every single time you see the places you have seen a hundred time. Every corner, every street, every place has its own story, in a city which is full of history, every where you go. This is what makes it so beautiful, what makes its people so proud of it. I apologize for the English readers, but I would like to paste something that my friend Tommy wrote (some time ago, in Italian) about Santa Maria Novella, one of the most beautiful Church in Florence. For everyone instead I made a little slideshow with some terrific pictures I have found on the web (actually some are mine as well :) ).

I titoli a volte si scelgono per catturare l’attenzione di lettori distratti o pigri che selezionano così le poche righe sulle quali spendere il loro poco tempo di webnauti.In questa italica riscoperta di miti un po’ impolverati e forse per questo ciclicamente riproponibili, il titolo del cavallo di battaglia di quello che sembra essere rinato come l’idolo delle ragazzine di mezz’età, mi è sembrato un ottimo catalizzatore per gli assonnati occhi dei miei due o tre lettori di poetica memoria.E’ sabato a Firenze; stranieri con improbabili magliette corte e cartina in mano, i banchi di S. Lorenzo che aprono i battenti e le urla becere e condite di fiorentina “sacralità” dei garzoni del mercato centrale. C’è già un po’ di viola nell’aria con le civette quotidiani che già ammiccano ad una partita teoricamente abbordabile. E’ sabato a Firenze e nonostante il lavoro chiami, ho deciso di passare per un attimo in piazza S. Maria Novella.Per il viaggiatore che giunge a Firenze ed esce dalle austere e razionaliste forme della stazione, di lei vede solo l’imponente e cupo tergo. Finestroni enormi e paramenti di pietra forte. Dovrebbe incuriosire trovarsi davanti l’unica chiesa che invece del suo volto bello ti mostra le spalle, come una donna civettuola d’altri tempi. Fai via degli Avelli e cerchi di guardarle i fianchi, capire se val la pena fare altri 50 metri e farle svelare il viso. Entri in piazza e capisci che Leon Battista Alberti era uno che, primo, voleva bene a Firenze e secondo, era innamorato della bellezza della geometria. Qualche raggio di sole esce dalle nuvole e rende immacolato ciò che molti direbbero “bianco”, meraviglioso qualcosa che gli stessi direbbero banalmente “bello” e l’occhio innamorato di un fiorentino qualunque si riempie di orgogliosa commozione.Mancano pochi minuti all’appuntamento ma cedo alla tentazione di entrare nella pancia di questa meraviglia dove, solitario ed unico, Giotto ha appeso la sua eterna preghiera a Dio: l’immagine di un uomo affisso mani e piedi ad una rigida croce, morente e misteriosamente trionfante. Il capolavoro di Masaccio e Masolino, lì accanto sembrano quasi una lieve appendice a tale bellezza.La nostra città è così, è un luogo dove capita di camminare distrattamente accanto ad un pezzo di muro dipinto per il quale a New York, solo per quello, costruirebbero un immenso museo. Firenze è così, è lo scrigno più grande riempito delle più belle gemme e pietre preziose che attende sempre l’occhio di un fiorentino qualunque che lo guardi non con bramosia ed interesse ma con amore e desiderio

For our international visitors: a new, ongoing series of images taken by yours truly.

Popular devotion in Italy comes in all sizes: small, big and over the top.
As usual, it’s at its best when it’s at its most sincere, which often means: off the beaten track.
In the big cities there’s real art: the big names, the wealthy families, the famous artists.
But if you are looking for the heartfelt, the naïve, the ludicrously simple-minded, you have to wander.

In small communities, religion was the most important social glue. Churces were built with donations provided by the whole community. Paesants and miners would erect chapels to provide themselves with some kind of protection that was unattainable by human means.

Mercy is the strongest feeling you get. Mercy from a lifetime of troubles and suffering: it’s no wonder why popular devotion praises martyrs above all other saints. They are the only ones who suffered even more, and got their reward in heaven. Faith in a simple, blissful salvation provided by a smiling Madonna.

Their faces: they are the faces of real people. Painted by wandering artists, some of their names forever lost to us, who would choose their models among local maids, washerwomen, paesants. Saints share the same features of those who worshipped them. Which is just as well.

S. Agata
Taken in the local church on Isola dei Pescatori (Fishermen's island), a small island near the shores of Lago Maggiore, in Northern Italy.

Val Codera (Codera valley), up past the northern spike of Como Lake, near the Swiss border, is a treasure of popular devotion.
The valley, as is often the case, owes its name to the river that created it. Legend has it that this is one of the first places that God made, when He wasn't that skillful, or maybe one of the last, when He was tired and left with just throwaways. Either way, the valley has a pristine, savage, severe beauty.
No road has ever been built: there's just a path, and it's scattered with small chapels, each with its own subject and style. This is one of the first that you meet, climbing up from the real world.

A blissful Madonna with Child, both with crowns, is the centerpiece.

On the right side, St. John the Baptist. Look at that blue! It's really beautiful. Unfortunately, the painting on the left side, more exposed to the wind and rain, is completely gone.

And here's the chapel, in all its breathtaking setting!

Show us a flag.

Mi manca firenze molto... 

Show us the historical figure with whom you'd most like to trade places.

The dark years of the Middle Ages fascinate me; I understand they were really hard times, nevertheless, I often find myself wondering how life was then. One great man I admire from that period of time is Francis of Assisi, born rich, chose to be poor. When I was little I was often told stories on  his life, the ones that touched me the most are narrated below.

St. Francis and the Wolf

San Francesco

Saint Francis, nature, and the environment

Many of the stories that surround the life of St Francis deal with his love for animals. Perhaps the most famous incident that illustrates the Saint’s humility towards nature is recounted in the 'Fioretti' (The "Little Flowers"), a collection of legends and folk-lore that sprang up after the Saint’s death. It is said that one day while Francis was traveling with some companions they happened upon a place in the road where birds filled the trees on either side. Francis told his companions to "wait for me while I go to preach to my sisters the birds". The birds surrounded him, drawn by the power of his voice, and not one of them flew away. Francis spoke to them:

My sister birds, you owe much to God, and you must always and in everyplace give praise to Him; for He has given you freedom to wing through the sky and He has clothed you…you neither sow nor reap, and God feeds you and gives you rivers and fountains for your thirst, and mountains and valleys for shelter, and tall trees for your nests. And although you neither know how to spin or weave, God dresses you and your children, for the Creator loves you greatly and He blesses you abundantly. Therefore… always seek to praise God.

Main article: Wolf of Gubbio

Another legend from the Fioretti tells that in the city of Gubbio, where Francis lived for some time, was a wolf “terrifying and ferocious, who devoured men as well as animals”. Francis had compassion upon the townsfolk, and went up into the hills to find the wolf. Soon, fear of the animal had caused all his companions to flee, though the saint pressed on. When he found the wolf, he made the sign of the cross and commanded the wolf to come to him and hurt no one. Miraculously the wolf closed his jaws and lay down at the feet of St. Francis. “Brother Wolf, you do much harm in these parts and you have done great evil…” said Francis. “All these people accuse you and curse you…But brother wolf, I would like to make peace between you and the people.” Then Francis led the wolf into the town, and surrounded by startled citizens made a pact between them and the wolf. Because the wolf had “done evil out of hunger”, the townsfolk were to feed the wolf regularly, and in return, the wolf would no longer prey upon them or their flocks. In this manner Gubbio was freed from the menace of the predator. Francis, ever the lover of animals, even made a pact on behalf of the town dogs, that they would not bother the wolf again.

These legends exemplify the Franciscan mode of charity and poverty as well as the saint's love of the natural world. Part of his appreciation of the environment is expressed in his Canticle of the Sun, a poem written in Umbrian Italian in perhaps 1224 which expresses a love and appreciation of Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Mother Earth, Brother Fire, etc. and all of God's creations personified in their fundamental forms. In "Canticle of the Creatures," he wrote: "All praise to you, Oh Lord, for all these brother and sister creatures."

Francis's attitude towards the natural world, while poetically expressed, was conventionally Christian. He believed that the world was created good and beautiful by God but suffers a need for redemption because of the primordial sin of man. He preached to man and beast the universal ability and duty of all creatures to praise God (a common theme in the Psalms) and the duty of men to protect and enjoy nature as both the stewards of God's creation and as creatures ourselves.

Legend has it that St. Francis on his deathbed thanked his donkey for carrying and helping him throughout his life, and his donkey wept.

{ wikipedia }