35Florence, November 1475
Summer had faded away as even the sweetest of melodies fades. The clear sky has ceded its place to flocks of thick clouds, full of rain and storms. The air has grown gradually cooler and the dust has been replaced by mud. Finally, November has arrived, with a hissing wind that sweeps away the clouds and the multicoloured dancing leaves.
In the most secluded room of the workshop the light has already diminished, although it is still not late afternoon. I am preparing some colours and the Master is sitting in front of the large panel representing the flowering garden, his face contorted with pain and his hands entwined and pressed against his forehead, as if he wants to squeeze the thoughts out of his head. Friday afternoon finds us alone in the room, Simonetta wa
