10Careggi, March 25th 1475,
the night of New Year’s Eve in Florence
«The year 1474 has ended! Let us drink to the New Year and Lady Spring!» Botticelli raises his stemmed glass to me and Amerigo.
«Spring, she who grants new birth to the world every year. The dawn of every new life we could possibly imagine».
To be honest, I prefer summer with its sparkling joyful light. I have always preferred the extreme temperatures of the summer months to the unstable and uncertain weather of the mid-seasons, the languid embrace of those long days and, at night, the certainty of that identical and calm rhythm of the air, highlighted by the monotone chirping of crickets. But I would never dare contradict the Master. «To Spring, the dawn of the new year and of all dreams!» I raise my glass to my two e
