Gelato and City Fireflies

The city streets of Florence, Italy feel like canyons. They are deep, cobbled trenches, dug out of a sea of red roofs. From the top of the cathedral, gazing out over the city, we had seen the shingled waves and ripples of dull red, a layer of rooftops. But deep, straight gouges in this landscape sprawl outwards from the cathedral plaza, a network of narrow streets. We stroll along the canyon floor, over the smooth cobblestones, each one like a scale on the back of a fish. The towering Italian architecture squeezes the sky into a thin stripe, three stories above us. The slim sliver of blue slowly fades to dark velvet, the color of a night sky polluted by city lights. 

Our destination slides into view on the side of the street: a gelato shop. The dull yellow glow from street lamps that shine a pale hue on the glossy cobblestones is replaced by bright white lights and blinding walls as we step into the shop. A crisp smell of cream and freezers meets my nostrils as I glance across the flavor options. My taste buds are suddenly swimming as my mouth waters, practically stinging with anticipation. After I order, I fix my gaze on the shiny grey scooper, drawn from a steaming bowl of water. I watch as it traces a curved path around the edge of the gelato, furling a ribbon of the frozen treat into a smooth icy ball. The scooper flattens the first ball against the inside of the cup, but places the second gently on top. 

With the cold cup of gelato in my hand, I walk back out onto the dimly lit street. I alternate flavors, scooping lemon first, then dark chocolate with my tiny plastic spoon. The chilling flavors creep across my mouth, and my lips feel icy when I wipe them with a napkin.

Eventually, we emerge from the narrow street and the sky suddenly expands above us. Scraping the last few creamy bites of melted gelato from our cups, we savor the fading flavors. We walk out onto the plaza where a cathedral towers above us, framed by the velvet backdrop. A flash of light flies across my gaze, a streak of fluttering fluorescent green. Another, this time purple. All around the plaza, little lights rocket upwards from the ground, like lasers from a starship in a Star Wars battle. 

The lights slow their arcing trajectory, high above us, until they peacefully glide down from the sky, fluttering back into the outstretched arms of street vendors. I hear a swift whizzing sound, barely audible over the chatter of the city, as the toys shoot into the sky again. They dance like fireflies as they drift down, with little twirling wings to slow their fall. Watching their spiralling descent, I can almost forget that I am deep in the city canyon, below a sea of shingled rooftops. If I gaze upwards, it’s as if I am lying in a distant meadow, watching fireflies float aimlessly over the tall grass. One city firefly drifts right over our heads, and lands on the smooth scaly cobblestones. It lies there, so clearly inanimate, clearly not a real firefly. But as the vendor picks it up and shoots it back into the sky, life returns to the cheap plastic, and it becomes a city firefly once more.