Florentine Snow and Siena Tobogans

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Florence:

What I notice most about the snow in Florence, is how it seems as though the sky is crumbling up into little bits and flying down towards me, the white sky disintegrating into a multitude of tiny fragments. The flakes of sky seem to angrily streak their way towards their resting places and are fierce in their cold demise. Again I try to touch and taste the sky, but in its final resiliance to be caught merely pierces me sharply and vanishes. I wonder briefly how much of the sky will come to a rest on the ground, how much will the standard balance of things be upset, will all of the sky fall and swallow up the ground, and then what will be above, the buildings, or perhaps still more sky, that the apparent skies demise of disintegration does little to halt the skies security but instead would merely seek to claim the earths terrain as the skies, and perhaps even I shall be swallowed up into this rather solidified air, till one day in summer, the cavity of where I used to be might be filled up with plaster and I may be exhibited alongside the ashy pompeii figures, a victim of a more subtle and deceptive vindictive sky.

Siena:

In Siena the snow takes over and places the city firmly into the hands of those who live in it. The famed rich colours of its walls are drained of their richness which the tourists flock to see, and those who do make it there do not dwell long, unable to manage its treacherous icey slopes as the steep cobblestoned streets have their roughness smoothed by a layer of ice. The main semi circular piazza which must usually be filled with the flashes of cameras has been taken over by children throwing snowballs at each other, scoops of snow being hurled from one end to the other, families gather and their pet dogs chase each other tails up and down the piazza's slopes and the snow is thick and fast covering up the gaps where feet have stepped or hands scooped or falling bottoms marred, and down its steeper slopes gather the local boys with garbage bags and tin trays upon which they sit and slide fast down it's slope, and in a moment of madness I turn to ask one if I might have a go and he nods and I sit down on his tray with him and go hurtling down the icey slope, laughing as we lose control, our tray spinning so we are falling backwards and then forwards again till we skitter to a stop amongst the snowballers, it is hard work to climb back up, each footstep we place with care and unease, testing it firmly before moving the next, and one time up we lose our footing and fall into a heap further down the icey slope from where we had started and struggle to regain some sense of standing, and again a few more times do I toboggan down, temporarily part of the locals, laughing and sliding with Luca and Stephano until I'm much too cold and its getting later so I too wave goodbye and turn to wend my way back down to catch a train home, leaving Siena to the locals who have reclaimed their city from the tourists and play with so much laughter in its snow filled streets...