4 a.m. on Sunday morning two friends and I decided to go to the beach. There is a beach just past Livorno with white sand and blue water. Well, blue is not the best word. It is more pale green blue. It looks like the crayon you would use for coloring the scales of a mermaid. Or like someone found the most innocent of eyes and reflected their gaze with the sea.
The beach was about one and a half hours away, still in Tuscany. So there are hills surrounded by fields of sunflowers and intermittent palaces tucked out of way. We saw a bleary sunrise — it looked like it was tired of that same familiar path over stone and water and buildings. Later it rallied.
After coming down a hill, water on our right that was deep blue, there were twists and turns and finally we reached level ground. Everything lightened up, not just the water but the plants the homes the sky. And so the day just stretched on while we lingered on towels, waves, under umbrellas, eating gelato, coated in sunscreen, covered in sand — you know — the beach. I didn’t know what to do with so much light. The stone of Florence absorbs the light, only releasing it in designated areas. Here it was impossible to escape, it covered every inch of sight.
So we slept, then ran into the sea and walked, talked; happy in our adventure we smiled. Soaking it up for 11 hours. The drive back was quiet. The work week ahead. But the day worth the cost of sleep.